


With Wisest Sorrow

by nycgrl, simonisbetter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriages, Blood, Character Death, Dark Romance, Explicit Sex, F/M, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light BDSM, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Red Wedding, Underage Drinking, Violence, Wars, dub-con, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9939017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nycgrl/pseuds/nycgrl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonisbetter/pseuds/simonisbetter
Summary: "Yet so far hath discretion fought with natureThat we with wisest sorrow think on himTogether with remembrance of ourselves."//Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2, Lines 5-7//





	1. Chapter 1

Pacing the stone floors did little to help the aching of her head, and Alysanne sat down on the edge of the bed with a huff. It’d been a month now, since the bastard King had executed her father, and longer still since she’d been viewed as a hostage, a political prisoner of the Lannisters. 

At least Sansa had purpose, she was still to be betrothed to Joffrey, poor girl. Her sister’s life with such a hateful, masochistic  _ child _ would be short-lived, and not a pleasant one. 

She, on the other hand, did nothing other than serve as a bargaining chip for the Lannisters against her family. Robb, and his newly acquired army, would do nothing too rash, knowing that Joffrey would take her head just as easily. 

She sighed impatiently and rose again, rubbing her thumb over her index finger as she gazed out the window, her room affording a view of the harbour. Coloured flags adorning the merchant ships fluttered gently in the wind, and the noise of the crowded streets of King’s Landing was a quiet buzz. The Capitol was a beautiful city, but she hated it. Hated being kept amongst those that despised her family, forever wondering if today would be the day she’d be accused of treason and executed. 

Every day was spent like this, pacing and worrying, wondering and remembering. Rarely was she allowed out, and only under strict supervision. Most usually when Cersei wanted to taunt her, to mock her for the “crime of being a Stark”. Robert Baratheon had been a drunk and a fool, but his Lannister Queen had not been much better, never without wine in hand. There were rumours about her, rumours her children-- including King Joffrey!-- were not, in fact, Robert’s children, but the children of her twin brother, Ser Jaime. 

She wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. Never trust a Lannister..

There were footsteps in the hall and the doors of her chamber was opened. Speaking of a Lannister.. Lord Tywin visited her occasionally, breaking the monotony of her days. He seemed to like her well enough, which had surprised her, unsure of what Lord Tywin would ever have to say to her, the second daughter of Eddard Stark, a man he sorely despised. He would come and talk with her when he had a few moments, but his way of speaking always left her wondering if he was truly sincere, or if he mocked her. 

Nonetheless, she rather enjoyed their talks, as he seemed to value her opinion. A woman, and a Stark, no less. She reminded him of his daughter, in a way, he’d said once. She’d cringed at the notion of being in any way similar to Cersei, but he’d continued. She had a stubbornness about her, unafraid of backing down. Her kind nature must not be allowed to get the better of her shrewdness. At the time, it had seemed like simple observations, but now, she wondered if perhaps he’d been trying to tell her something. 

He stood in the doorway, observing her quietly until she looked up at him, lost in thought. 

“Lady Alysanne.”

“Lord Tywin..” She bowed her head a bit and held out a hand in motioning he was free to enter. 

He settled himself at the table near the far wall, looking at her passively as she sat across from him. 

“I’ve had news from the north.”

She forced back a bubble of apprehension at that, steeling herself before looking up at him. 

“Your brother is joined by more men every day. They will soon be met on the battlefield by my own men. However, he may find his numbers less than he originally planned, soon.”

She blinked at him in confusion. In their discussions, they’d never spoken about war or family tensions. Usually it was books, or the going-ons of the capitol. Why would he tell her this, any of it?

“Meaning.. He’s going to be betrayed?”

His mouth ticked a bit at the corner, his gaze overly sharp. 

“Your family has less power than you think, Lady Stark. Perhaps it’s time to remind your brother of that.”  
  


~~

  
"You should marry again, my Lord. Solidify your position by joining with another house."   
  
"Other than picking from the lineup of Frey girls?" Roose asked dryly, and Anders smirked faintly, no doubt thinking of that  _ memorable _ scene.    
  
"Yes, my Lord."   
  
"Who would you recommend, then?"   
  
Anders stared thoughtfully at the table for a moment, tapping his fingertip on one of the steel Bolton house markers on the large map.    
  
His hand moved suddenly, reaching for the direwolf marker sitting just a bit south of the Dreadfort, and he moved it to sit beside the Bolton sigil.    
  
"The Starks have daughters. Four of them. Arya and Sansa both are quite young, and anyways Arya's being missing since Eddard Stark’s execution. Teora is the eldest, she's married to Daryn of House Hornwood. But Alysanne is of age to be married, now."   
  
"And you've met Alysanne Stark?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord. About a year ago, now."   
  
"And what is your opinion of her? I have only met the Stark girls once, and it was several years ago."   
  
"She's a beautiful girl, composed and poised--"   
  
"Perhaps tell me what I'd like to hear about her, not singing her praises, Anders."   
  
Anders looked down. "She's the quiet type, but the kind to always know what you're thinking. She's good with a bow and a dagger, and is well versed in politics and history. I think she'd prove useful to you."   
  
"And Lady Alysanne stands to inherit the Stark lands and armies from Robb."   
  
"Should the young king fall in battle, yes, the titles and lands would pass to her. This is, of course, assuming Robb Stark has no children."   
  
"That will not happen."    
  
"A marriage to Lady Alysanne would solidify alliances within the North, connecting the two most important houses and ensuring the loyalty of the minor houses swearing fealty to both you and to Winterfell."   
  
Roose gazed pensively down at the map for a long moment.    
  
"You could be right.. Where does Lady Alysanne currently reside?"   
  
"Beneath the..  _ protection _ , of Lord Tywin Lannister, my Lord. In King's Landing. With this new alliance, it's entirely possible Tywin would see this as an advantageous match."   
  
"More likely that I see it as a gesture of good faith from him in this alliance, but all the same."  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Teora reached up and brushed her hands over Daryn’s shoulders, and he turned towards her. The faded orange of his cloak made his green eyes flare with a brilliance, and Teora would miss looking upon his face in the time he would be gone. There was still an ever present tension between the two, but they had agreed to put it aside so that they could part in peace.

She was lost in her own thoughts, and he liked to study her face, not interrupting her. She had become Lady Hornwood nearly four years prior, the eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and the one with the most penchant for proving a disappointment to her mother.

She was but fifteen years old when they wed, a girl without a single care, torn from her life in Winterfell by consequences so grave she never spoke of them to her husband. Now she was growing bitter, a shadow of the person she had been, and her characteristics turned to those of brash fury or contentment, hardly deviating.

She was content now, content to feel like a ghost in the halls, walking aimlessly looking for purpose. Her duties to the house would not be great during her husband’s absence, still she was adamant to prove a true Hornwood with attention to detail. The Stark in her was also clear as day, giving her the strength she needed to live a quiet life away from the family she missed dearly.

Teora shivered, never truly numb to the chill of the North.

“You will be well looked after, my wife.” He unclasped his cloak, placing it around her shoulders, and he placed a finger under her chin,  “You are Lady Hornwood, are you the backbone of our house. I will return and find the household very much unchanged. Run with grace and efficiency.”

“How long have you been waiting to say that, Daryn?” She laughed, “You sound rather like your father.”

“I simply mean that I’m proud of you, for embracing your duties to this house with maturity.” He sighed, taking her hands in his own between them, moving them to stand closer to the cold window, “When I return, we will try again.”

Teora sighed, and the small clink of iron alerted them to the bannermen that entered the hall, and Daryn guided Teora by the elbow out to the front entrance of the house. She blinked against the bright overcast sky, and the bannermen stepped past to mount their horses, Daryn hesitating on the last step. He looked over his men, and Teora watched him in turn, the dark curls of his hair flitting against his chainmail cowl.

“Your brother will not be wanting for men willing to fight…”

Her husband turned to her, for the second time, looking up. Whatever quarrel they had was gone now, and he kissed his wife deeply, as they rarely did in the presence of others. Teora was grateful, Daryn was reserved in all forms of affection, even in their bedchambers, but not then. She kissed him back, as though it was their last.

  
He broke away suddenly, but she grasped tight you his arm, stopping him. Taking the cloak from her shoulders, the Hornwood sigil proudly stitched on the back, and she swept it around to sit on his broad shoulders once again. He descended the steps hastily and mounting his horse before he could shed a tear, though his eyes threatened a stormy gale. Teora looked on his face once more, their eyes studying the other, and he was soon gone, his men following after him through the gates of Hornwood. Some on horseback, some on foot, but none with such fervor to see him home as her.


	3. Chapter 3

"My Lord, there has been a raven from King's Landing."   
  
"Our Lord Tywin delivers. What does he say?" Roose asked absently, rolling up the parchment he'd been reading.    
  
Anders skimmed the letter.    
  
"He agrees. He will send Lady Alysanne to Winterfell, but there must be a plan enacted."   
  
"Yes. It would appear too suspicious to Robb Stark that Tywin Lannister has agreed to send his sister to marry into the Boltons. Robb must think of it himself." He pursed his lips. "She will have to give the appearance of running away, escaping back to the north to her childhood home and to the protection of her brother and his army."   
  
Anders handed him the letter as Roose rose from the table.    
  
"I will put into Robb's mind the idea that I look to remarry. The appearance of his sister will be a convenient surprise, and perhaps he will mention it himself. Should he not, you will give him the idea."   
  
~~

Alysanne looked around in surprise, suspicion beginning to cloud her features. This was too easy. 

Lord Tywin had evidently decided her imprisonment was too harsh, and had allowed her to walk the gardens in the courtyard of the Keep, guards posted at the doorways. That evening, however, it appeared the guards had been shirking their duties, leaving her alone. 

The corridor to the east was narrow and dimly lit, one she was unfamiliar with, but seemed to be going past the servant quarters. 

Perfect.

Slipping into one dark chamber, she found a few plain dresses in the old chest of drawers, a maid’s uniform. She undressed quickly, replacing her own gown in the drawer as payment as she laced up the back of the servant’s dress, tying a stained white apron over it. 

Those she passed in the corridors after that didn’t spare her a second glance, and the high walls of the Keep were soon behind her. If she could escape the city, she could find passage north, with no one to question her, but surely the Lannisters would soon realise their grave mistake, and she’d be hunted across the country. Finding Robb was paramount. 

~~    
  
He fed Tywin's latest letter to the fire, his lips twitching in a faint version of a smile. Tywin had freed Alysanne Stark, setting his guards to follow her where she would go, and reported to choice people that she had evaded his dungeons and run away.    
  
News had made it back to the north, and Robb had been observed in hurried council with Catelyn, both of them looking worried at the news of her.    
  
Alysanne would most certainly run straight north, it was only a matter of time. The guards would ensure she made it there alive, posing as commoners to help her should she fall injured or need assistance.    
  
He'd spoken to Robb about the prospect of needing a new wife, and after the expected quips about Walder Frey's abundance of granddaughters, Robb had nodded, looking thoughtful.    
  
~~   
  
A stir had gone through the camp long after dark, and a guard had burst in, calling him to the tent they'd been using as headquarters. He hadn't been sleeping, still half dressed, and strode over. He had a feeling he knew what the disturbance was about.    
  
Inside the commander’s tent, Catelyn was embracing a girl, relief etched deeply on her face, as Robb remained more composed, but it was clear he was ecstatic at the appearance.    
  
"Lord Bolton, my apologies for disturbing you at this late hour."    
  
"It's quite alright, your Grace, I wasn't asleep."   
  
"May I, then, present my sister, Lady Alysanne."   
  
Catelyn let go of the figure long enough for the girl to turn and look at him, and he nodded to her.    
  
"My Lady.."   
  
There was no doubt that Alysanne was Robb's sister, her hair a dark reddish-brown, her large eyes grey and fringed with dark lashes. She'd certainly grown from the tiny little thing she'd been as a child, messy haired and wild eyed. She looked at him with mild curiosity, but a smile quirked her pale lips as she observed him.    
  
"Alysanne, I doubt you'd remember him, you were very young, but this is Lord Bolton."   
  
Alysanne didn'tt turn to her brother, keeping her eyes on him.    
  
"No, I do remember him. I'm not that much younger than you, Robb."   
  
Her voice was light with amusement, and Robb ducked his head sheepishly.    
  
"Of course. Come, Alys. We have much to discuss."   
  
The girl finally turned her gaze from Roose to follow after Robb as he settled her in a chair at the war table, and Roose frowned slightly. Anders had been right, of course he always was. The girl was beautiful, not that it would have made a difference, but her grey eyes took in everything, not a whisper nor a flinch of the expression would escape her notice.    
  
She was clothed in a dirty brown dress, torn in a few places, no doubt the result of her flight from King's Landing, her hair in a messy braid down her back. She'd been wrapped in Robb's fur cloak, which she held about her shoulders gratefully, not suitably dressed for the cold of the North. Her gaze lingered on her clothing for a moment, eyes narrowed a bit. The dress was of the style worn only by servants. Had the Lannisters been treating her as a slave?   
  
"Lord Bolton, a word."   
  
He looked back as Robb pushed away from the table, his arms folded, as Catelyn ushered Alysanne from the tent, the girl looking already exhausted at the woman’s chattering.    
  
"Your Grace?"   
  
"You spoke to me not long ago about needing a wife."   
  
"Yes, your Grace. I'd much prefer to not leave the future of my house in the hands of my bastard, Ramsay."   
  
Robb arched an eyebrow in agreement at that.    
  
"As the death of your late wife has no doubt caused some amount of strain amongst the Freys, I presume you look to other houses, now."   
  
"If possible, your Grace. I fear it would not appear prudent to be seen as working my way through Walder Frey's granddaughters."   
  
"No, it would be less than prudent. This war puts a damper on being able to marry from a southern house, or at least houses owing allegiance to the Lannisters."    
  
Robb gazed at him for a long moment.    
  
"You've proven yourself trustworthy to me, Lord Bolton. I will therefore offer you my sister Alysanne, to take as your bride."   
  
Roose nodded to him after a moment. "I shall accept that offer, your Grace."   
  
Robb looked at him for a moment longer, then turned to the guard stationed just inside the tent.    
  
"Bring Lady Alysanne and Lady Stark back here, please."   
  
Roose looked to the table as Robb launched into a complaint about the positions of the armies, both of them lost in discussion by the time the guard returned.    
  
Both women joined them at the table, Alysanne's gaze moving carefully over the map spread out before them. She’d changed into a clean dress, that he recognized as one of Lady Catelyn’s, a bit too long for her. Her hair had been brushed out and rebraided neatly as well. Catelyn appeared to be prepared to enter the discussion, but stared pointedly at Robb, sensing something had changed.    
  
  
Alysanne looked over the metal figures gracing the map, representing the Stark forces versus the Lannister forces on the battlefield. The Lannisters had more men, but the north had cunning and an advantage given the terrain of the area. It was quite possible they could corner them against the mountains, trap them in a massacre.    
  
Looking up, about to ask Robb a question, she faltered at the unspoken conversation that seemed to be passing between him and Catelyn, and she sent a sideways glance at Roose Bolton, who was already watching her with a pensive gaze. Turning instead to him, she ignored her brother.    
  
"How many forces are held here, at the Highland, my Lord?" She pointed to a metal piece in the shape of a flayed man, his own house sigil, and his eyes followed where she indicated.    
  
"Six hundred men, my Lady. Half cavalry, half infantry."   
  
"Could we not use your forces there to attack this portion of the Lannister's men? Separate them from the main army? If we could drive them back, they'd be caught between us and the mountains, they would be cornered with nowhere to go."   
  
"It could be possible, but we run the risk of them not being separated as far as necessary. The remaining Lannister army, should they prove not sufficiently distracted by the remaining army here," he pointed to another figure, further east, "would follow, and then our men would be trapped on all sides by Lannisters."   
  
She pursed her lips, looking over the map.    
  
"It would be a last resort move, but it's a good thought, my Lady."   
  
She glanced up at him, seeming to sense that he was flattering her, but she didn’t comment, as Robb and Catelyn turned back to the table.    
  
"What about here?" She asked suddenly. "Their sentries are weak here, we could launch a surprise attack by looping this portion of the army around here," she pointed at the valley further south, "and surprise them at night. They'd never see it coming."    
  
She looked up hopefully at Robb, who stared at the map with a crease forming between his eyebrows.    
  
"Lord Bolton.. How many men are currently here, at the rear?" Robb asked suddenly.   
  
"A thousand, your Grace."     
  
Robb’s mouth twisted in a slight frown.    
  
"Turn the back of your army to lead an attack from the side and back. You’ll effectively surround them; the Lannisters will be too busy fighting the men at the vanguard to notice, and by then it'll be too late." She added.    
  
Robb glanced up at Lord Bolton, who was studying the map intently as well.    
  
"Alys.. I think you're on to something here. That might just work."    
  
She smiled at her brother's praise, not missing the silent conversation that seemed to take place between him and Lord Bolton. Something was going on that she was clearly being left out of, here.    
  
Soon the tent was filled with bannermen, arriving for the council meeting, and she left the tent, wandering the camp. The makeshift practice range sat just south of the commander’s tent, and she approached curiously. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d last practiced.    
  
A blonde man stood there, talking with a few soldiers, that she thought she recognized. He smiled at her, sending the men off with a nod. 

“Come to practice, Lady Stark?” He offered her a bow.   
  
"I fear my archery skills may have grown rusty, spending so much time as a prisoner of the Lannisters."   
  
"I'm sure you'll still set a fine example, Lady Stark." Anders, she remembered his name was, replied with an easy smile, and she drew an arrow, gazing down the shaft at the target for a long moment.    
  
Exhaling slowly, she released, the arrow singing through the air to stick, quivering, just outside the centre.    
  
"See, you still remember."    
  
She smiled dryly. "No sir, I'm quite out of practice. I missed."   
  
She stayed in the makeshift range for quite a time, practice bringing her mindset back, and she smiled wistfully as she managed to hit dead centre every time now, remembering when her father had taught her, Jon, Teora, and Robb how to shoot. They'd been very young, but Ned had insisted to Catelyn that it was never too early to teach them to fight and to hunt.    
  
"An excellent shot, my lady."   
  
She started at the deep voice from behind her, looking back to find Lord Bolton there, watching.    
  
"Thank you, my Lord."    
  
"Did your father teach you that?"    
  
She nodded. "I learnt alongside my brothers as a child."   
  
He was still looking at the target, but she senses he wasn’t really seeing it, lost in his own thoughts.    
  
"I taught my own sons to shoot very young."   
  
She glanced up at him. "Sons? Robb said you had one, but there are more?"   
  
"Yes.. Domeric and Ramsay. Domeric died, years ago."   
  
"I'm very sorry, my Lord."    
  
He shook his head faintly, glancing down at her.    
  
"Your knowledge of military tactics is rather impressive, my Lady. Another of your father's lessons?"   
  
"Yes, of course. My mother tried her best to raise me as a proper young lady, but I fear she was not very successful. I was always more interested in hunting and war discussions than embroidery and etiquette."   
  
The corner of his mouth twitched in what she'd come to see as his version of a smile, and she turned back to her bow just as Robb approached.    
  
He grinned as he watched her take a few shots.    
  
"You always were better than me."   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Only with standing targets. You were better at hunting, and fantastically smug about it."    
  
He smiled down at her. "I need to discuss something with you."   
  
"Alright." She nocked another arrow. "Such as?"   
  
He grasped her arm before she could draw.    
  
"This is something best discussed in private, Alys."   
  
"Oh." She set aside the bow, waving to Anders. "Excuse me, Lord Bolton." She nodded to him as Robb took her arm, leading her back to the commander's tent.    
  
"You're of age now, Alys." Robb started. "Of the age to be married. I know there's a war on, and it's not ideal--"   
  
"But you want to marry me off." She finished for him. "Who, Robb?"   
  
He gazed at her for a moment. "Roose Bolton."    
  
Her expressions were still as she looked at him, while he looked on apprehensively, searching her face for a glimmer of how she felt about it.    
  
"Of course, your Grace." Her voice was flat; she didn’t seem particularly upset, but then again, she wasn't happy, either.    
  
"When will this wedding take place?" She asked quietly, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead.    
  
"Do you want a proper wedding, Alys?"   
  
"I couldn't care less, Robb. You know that."   
  
"Then you will be married when we can find a Septon willing. We're in the middle of a war, there isn't time for preparations."   
  
She nodded, her head lowered as Lord Bolton suddenly appeared in the tent, looking between them for a moment before nodding to Robb.    
  
"I know that wasn't how you wanted to hear about it, I'm sorry." Robb apologised quietly, but she shrugged him off.    
  
"Don't worry about me, Robb. You have a war to win, there's no time to spend trying to spare my feelings."   
  
He looked at her for a moment longer, then left the tent. She expected Lord Bolton to follow, but he didn’t move, watching her curiously.    
  
Alysanne rubbed her temples, eyes screwed shut for a moment, then turned to the table, directing her attentions to the figurines covering the map.    
  
"Are you here to keep me from leaving?" She asked suddenly, and he looked at her impassively.    
  
"No, of course not, my Lady. Your brother just thought you might wish to talk."   
  
She gazed at him for a long moment.    
  
"Yes.. Robb's just told me I'm to become your bride. Though I presume you already know this."   
  
"I do."   
  
"Why me?" She asked after a moment. "Surely you'd benefit more from an alliance with a house other than the one you already swear fealty to."   
  
"Potentially, yes. But in the midst of war, an alliance with the Lannisters was looking rather grim."   
  
She looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he was being serious, or making a joke. He gave her the faintest hint of a sly smile a moment later, answering her silent query, and she smirked, looking away.    
  
  
~~   
  
  
The Septon stood, beckoning them both towards him, and Alysanne stood at Lord Bolton's side, very still as he removed her cloak, hastily borrowed from Robb, and replaced it with his, a heavy grey piece adorned with the sigil of a flayed man.    
  
She lifted her hand to take his when he offered it, and the Septon bound their hands together with a strip of white cloth that looked suspiciously like a bandage, of the kind used by the Silent Sisters.    
  
"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."   
  
Why on earth was Robb having a Septon marry them, anyway? While they had grown up learning about both the Old Gods and the New, as Catelyn held the faith of the Seven, while Ned held the faith of the Old Gods, she was sure the Lord Bolton was a follower of the Old Gods of the Forest, in the North.    
  
Perhaps it was just easiest.    
  
Lord Bolton was gazing at the Septon as the man spoke, but there was a faint crease between his eyebrows, indicating he was somewhat puzzled, as well.    
  
"Look upon each other, and say the words."    
  
Alysanne had a split second to panic, trying to recall the phrase, before the words tumbled from her lips without her realizing what they even were.    
  
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."    
  
Lord Bolton spoke the words simultaneously, but she noticed a twitch in his expression when he says "I am hers". Curious.    
  
She stood passively when he kissed her, the final step, and he took her arm then, turning her to face the few people assembled in the tent with them, giving her to them as Lady Bolton.    
  
Robb was smiling, as was Anders, the few other assembled Lords looking passive, but Catelyn was looking at Lord Bolton with a wary expression.    
  
The wedding had been performed without any of the usual pomp and ceremony, Robb immediately pulling her new Lord husband away to discuss a raven that had come, and Catelyn came to her side, offering her a goblet of wine, speaking quickly to try and offer as much advice as she could in a short time.    
  
Alysanne took the cloak she'd borrowed and handed it back to Robb, who caught her in a crushing embrace before she could turn away.    
  
"Lord Bolton! Take your new Lady wife to bed."   
  
Robb spoke suddenly, and Alysanne sighed, glad that the absence of a feast had saved her the humiliation of a bedding ritual.    
  
Lord Bolton offered her his arm, and she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, smiling weakly at her mother, who looked concerned, as they left the tent.    
  
Lord Bolton's tent was a short distance away, and his hand settled on the nape of her back, guiding her in.    
  
Her gaze swept the room once before she settled for looking calmly at him, and he motioned towards the bed. Turning, she sat carefully on the edge, still watching him.    
  
"It will hurt the first time, my Lady."   
  
She blinked at him, then ducked her head, nodding.    
  
"I know, my Lord. My mother was most insistent in reminding me of that."   
  
He was still watching her with a curious look, and she wanted to squirm under his gaze, but forced herself to sit still.    
  
Deciding to get it over with, she reached up and began to undo the fastenings on the front of her dress, rising from the bed to undo the sash around her waist and pulled the dress from her shoulders.    
  
He watched her do this, but when she was left in just her shift, he stopped her when she went to remove it, inching it up himself. His hands were cool against her waist as he bunched the fabric over her head, and she brought her arms up in failed attempt to cover herself.    
  
He caught her wrists, his grip tightening as she attempted to struggle against him moving her arms down. A subtle display of strength, but the message was still blatant enough, _do not fight and you will not be hurt._ _   
_   
"My Lady, do not feel as though you need to hide yourself from me."    
  
His voice was soft, but laced with the same message that had been in his grip.    
  
She turned her gaze downwards, as he removed her smallclothes, and stood bare before him.   
  
The little girl he'd met back at Winterfell, the girl who chased around after her older brothers with a bow in hand and dirt smudged on her face, had grown to become quite the young woman.    
  
She'd turned her gaze nervously to his face as he'd paused his attentions to look at her properly, and he registered faintly frightened grey eyes staring up at him a moment later.

She didn’t speak as he nudged her back against the bed, her gaze trained on the floor, but at least she'd stopped trying to hide herself from him. A pointless endeavour.   
  
He pushed her legs apart and moved between them, unlacing his trousers with one hand as the other held her hip, keeping her in place as he sank into her.   
  
Still she made no sound, but when he looked at her face, stilling for a moment to allow her to adjust, she looked.. Confused.   
  
Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, eyes bewildered, as he thrusted leisurely in short strokes.   
  
She'd gain no pleasure from this night, this time for duty above anything else, but by the Gods, she was tight around him--  
  
His thrusts gained force, his hips snapping against her thighs and sure to leave bruises in the morning, and he'd given up on trying to draw it out, knowing she only suffered. His pleasure was swift and short, their duty done.   
  
She'd pulled her legs together when he returned with a damp cloth, his trousers fixed, and she laid back on the bed, letting him clean the bit of blood.

 

The flicker of lantern light cast shadows over her pale skin, exposed now without a care. She looked over at him as he sat back on the bed, her eyebrows furrowed just a bit.    
  
"What?" He asked eventually at her staring, and she turned towards him a little.    
  
"I remember you, from years ago."   
  
"I met with your father many times, at Winterfell."   
  
"Teora's wedding." She clarified, and the corner of his mouth twitched.    
  
"Planning to make a scene at your brother's wedding, as well?"   
  
She groaned, closing her eyes and turning her head away.    
  
"I still can't handle wine, you know." She sighed heavily. "But that was you. I knew I recognized it."   
  
His eyebrows lifted a little, and he gazed at her until she continued.    
  
"Your voice. I remember someone talking to me, the person that was holding me. It was you."   
  
He looked at her passively for a long moment, and the faintest hint of a smile ticked her lips. He wouldn't confirm it, wouldn't admit he'd done such a thing, but he allowed her confirmation in his passiveness- he wouldn't deny it.    
  
"What did your mother do to you, that day? I have never before seen Lady Catelyn look so furious."   
  
Alysanne smirked humourlessly.    
  
"She yelled until she was purple in the face, then slapped me for my foolishness, and again for defying the rules and drinking wine, which I was not allowed to do."   
  
"She didn't beat you, though?"   
  
"No, though I know she dearly wanted to. Father would have been furious with her."   
  
"He didn't allow you to be beaten as punishment?"   
  
She shook her head a little, eyeing him curiously at his interest. "A stern talking-to was usually the extent of it, unless it was something grave, in which case we were confined to our rooms to contemplate and pray."   
  
"Pray?" His face remained as impassive as ever, and she frowned a bit.    
  
"We were a house divided. Father held the faith of the Old Gods of the forest, my mother, the faith of the seven. We were raised in both, and left to choose our own ways."   
  
"And your choice?"   
  
She sighed, looking away. "The old gods, for a time. But I prayed to them all, and none of my prayers were answered. So how am I to believe in either?"   
  
His lips twitched a little, and she looked at him again with faint curiosity in her pale eyes, but didn’t speak again. 

 

~~ 

 

_ The wind was cold, biting, and mirrored Alysanne’s mood as she pulled her fur cloak closer about her shoulders, standing close to Robb’s side. Already Lord Hornwood, and his son Daryn, Teora’s betrothed, stood at the base of the weirwood tree, the carved face in the trunk seeming to watch them ominously.  _

_ A finger jabbed her sharply in the back, Catelyn’s silent direction for her to stand up straight, and Alysanne sighed, stiffening a bit. How much longer would they have to stand there? It was so cold. The ribbon on her long braid had begun to loosen and she grumpily retied it, grasping Robb’s hand. Her elder brother looked down at her, already tall and gangly though he’d only just celebrated his fourteenth name day, and he smiled sadly.  _

_ Jon was nowhere to be found, no doubt Catelyn had locked him in his chambers again to keep him from being there. Nothing could interrupt Teora’s perfect day, especially not Jon Snow, the dirt on their mother’s shoe. _

_ Finally, oh finally, there was the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the assembled guests turned to look, finding Teora on Ned’s arm, being led into the godswood.  _

_ A stark white veil was draped over Teora’s head, which struck Alys as strange, her sister didn’t particularly like the veil when she had tried it, though their mother was most likely behind insisting she wear it. Underneath the woven lace was a gown of brocaded satin, the skirt a burnt orange, tucked into a laced bodice of the same colour. _

_ Teora shivered, and Alys grimaced, that her sister would not even be allowed a cloak, the sleeves of her gown fit tight but not much help against the biting air. The girl’s hair was set in the spiraling braid that she had be objected to sit still for, but the small winter flowers were crisp from the frost, sure to fall out with movement.  _

_ “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Halys Hornwood’s deep voice carried even over the wind as Ned and Teora approached, her sister’s gaze finding hers in the crowd and holding for a moment, before their father’s words forced her to turn away. _

_ "Teora, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who will claim her?” _

_ Alysanne made a face. A woman grown? Teora, even as the eldest, was fifteen, hardly grown. The Hornwood boy-- she couldn’t bear to even think his name, this man, this monster, who came to steal her best friend away from her-- stepped to his father’s side, pushing dark curls out of his eyes. _

_ “Daryn, of House Hornwood, heir to the Hornwood. Who gives her?” _

_ “Eddard, of House Stark. Her father.” _

_ “Lady Teora, do you take this man?” Halys Hornwood seemed to be sizing her up somewhat critically, and there was silence for a moment before Teora spoke.  _

_ “I take this man.” She agreed quietly, barely audible.  _

_ Daryn reached out, waiting for Teora to take his hand, and led her forwards towards the heart tree, both of them kneeling at the base of the trunk, so the Gods might witness their union. Alysanne’s gaze flickered about the others gathered, ignoring the fact that the silence was meant for a moment of prayer.  _

_ They rose a long moment later, and Daryn removed the cloak he wore, silently wrapping it about Teora’s shoulders. The dull orange clashed with the skirt of Teora’s dress, and Alysanne made a face. Surely, Catelyn would have had the foresight to realise that orange was the colour of House Hornwood’s banners, and wouldn’t have dressed her daughter in a different shade of the colour. Especially with their fiery hair.. _

_ Robb pulled on her hand, the two of them joining the now chattering group as they returned into the castle. Just like that, her sister a married woman.  _

_ She dragged her feet and walked slowly, making Robb tug her impatiently into the great hall, her brother depositing her at her seat and plopping down beside her. Already the hall was filled with the loud racket of their family and the others, food being brought out to fill the tables, wine flowing. Robb reached out and took up a pitcher, filling his goblet. He was allowed to have wine now, but Catelyn refused to allow it to Alysanne, insisting she was still too young.  _

_ Robb side-eyed her as she pouted, then reached over, trading his goblet with hers.  _

_ “Don’t tell mother.” He said with a sly smile when she sent him a disbelieving stare.  _

_ She drank some of it, wrinkling her nose at the sharp bite, and sighed, methodically filling her plate, though she didn’t want to eat. Sansa sat on her other side, chattering loudly, and the noise hurt her head. She took the goblet and got up from the table, to save her sister the pain and herself the scene of hitting Sansa with a dinner plate if she didn’t stop talking, and wandered up to the high table.  _

_ “Alysanne, what’s wrong?” Ned asked as she approached, and she frowned.  _

_ “Nothing, father. Everything’s wonderful.” _

_ Catelyn looked at her through slightly narrowed eyes, but didn’t comment as Alysanne continued past, going around the back of the table and pushing her sister over a bit so she could share her chair with her, Teora giving a huff of surprise.  _

_ “Dear one, what is it? Why aren’t you sitting with our brother?” Her sister spoke quietly, glancing at her new Lord husband every so often. _

_ Alysanne pouted at her. “I’ll have time to sit with him later. Not with you. Must you go, Tia?” Her eyes were wet with unshed tears.  _

_ Teora wiped at Alys’ eyes, catching the tears before they fell, and with great melancholy she whispered against her sister’s hair, “Yes, I must. Even if I don’t want to.” _

_ Alysanne sniffed, raising her head a bit to send a venomous glare at Daryn, and rose from the chair, storming past, as Daryn watched her go, a look of alarm on his face.  _

_ Teora sighed, and looked hesitantly at the man beside her, “Forgive her, my Lord. She is just sad to have me leave. She means no disrespect.” She knew full well that disrespect was precisely what her sister had meant, but the apology was accepted nonetheless.  _

_ Daryn was gentle, too gentle, and she wished he would not be so kind, making it ever more hard to leave her home behind.  _

_ Alysanne stomped back to her table, ignoring Robb’s slightly amused look, and he took her goblet from her, but before she could protest, he filled it again and handed it back to her.  _

_ “Drink.” He said quietly. “It should calm you down.” _

_ She drank half of it all at once, hardly even noticing the bitter sting any longer, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, the wine sloshing around as she did, some of it spilling onto the table.  _

_ She started to rise from the table again, but was dropped back down abruptly as Robb pushed her.  _

_ “Don’t, Alysanne.” He warned, and she wrenched her arm away from his grasp, standing and marching away.  _

_ Teora watched her in alarm as she marched back up to the head table, pointing an accusing glare towards Daryn.  _

_ “You!” She spluttered. “You-- you’re horrible! You can’t do this to her, she’s too young, and she’s too good for you!” She cried, hand shaking as she slammed the goblet down in front of the shocked Hornwood. “She’s my best friend, and I won’t let you take her! I’ll never see her again, and I-- I hate you!” _

_ She broke down in tears, collapsing against the table and sliding to the floor as she began to sob noisily, the shocked silence dissipating into quiet conversations again. Hands wrapped around her arms, sitting her up a little, and boots stood in front of her. Her father’s, she thought. Hard to tell through eyes blurry from tears.    
_

_ “Lady Alysanne, calm yourself.” A deep voice spoke quietly in her ear, one she didn’t recognise, and she hiccuped, wiping her eyes angrily. It was indeed Ned who stood over her, reaching for the goblet she’d abandoned on the table, then sighing and placing it aside, though she noted he was sure to avoid setting it within Catelyn’s reach. Her mother looked furious, her face set in hard lines, as she leaned over the table to glare at her. Teora was half out of her seat, no doubt stilled by the prospect of facing Catelyn’s wrath, while Daryn was still motionless, eyes shocked.  _

_ Various voices tried to comfort her, and she had a moment to give a few more shuddering sobs before angry footsteps approached her, signalling Catelyn had come to drag her off to bed. The arms holding her guided her to sit up, exposing her to the vicelike grip of her mother, fingers tightening like talons around her wrist as she was yanked unceremoniously to her feet and half marched, half dragged from the room. _

 


	4. Chapter 4

The camp was a flurry of noise and activity; jingling harnesses, the clank of armour, and the shouts of the soldiers, preparing to follow their King into battle. Alysanne stepped from the Commander’s tent, hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she looked around. There were a few women fighting with them, one of Robb’s personal guard was a woman-- Dacey, a daughter of Maege Mormont. Perhaps she should go to battle with them.. Anything would be more appealing than staying alone in the camp with her mother. Except perhaps her husband’s wrath, should he discover her. No, best to stay and suffer quietly. Roose’s reaction had been enough when she’d come to the Commander’s tent that morning, dressed in leather trousers and a black jerkin, her hair braided long down her back and sword on her hip, even without intentions of fighting. 

 

More bannerman had arrived in the night, bringing men south to join with Robb. Tywin’s words still niggled the back of her mind, though, and it frightened her. How many men would be slain in this battle? Perhaps her husband, even Robb? 

 

A young man stepped past her, leaving the tent, one of the bannermen that’d joined Robb’s personal guard, but his cloak was what caught her eye; dull orange, adorned with a black moose head. 

 

“Lord Hornwood.”

 

He turned, looking back at her quizzically, and her eyebrows arched as she looked at him. It had been nearly five years, now, but still she recognised him, the young Lord that Teora had been married to, leaving home when Alysanne was twelve. She couldn’t help the pang of childish pettiness to look at him, this man who had stolen her best friend away from her, when she’d needed her most. But he had been practically still a child, himself, at the time, though Teora’s senior by a few years.

 

“Lady Stark.” His dark eyebrows lifted a bit in recognition, nodding his head to her, and she observed him carefully. He had not changed much in looks since she last saw him, his dark curls perhaps a bit longer, his face a bit graver, but there was a kindness in his green eyes that was undeniable. Perhaps her sister had not suffered as much as she expected.. But then, she could have no way of knowing. 

 

“How is Teora?” She asked quietly, folding her arms. 

 

He looked at her hesitantly, but the hint of a smile played at the corner of his pale lips,

 

“She is well, though she spends much of her time alone, especially now.” He surveyed the happenings around them, continuing as he shifted his footing, “I know your sister misses you very much.”

 

“Does she?” She accused. “Not a word, Lord Hornwood. Not one word, for four years. We thought her dead.”

 

He looked at her with a sudden confusion, but what prevented him from speaking on it, she would never know. Instead he eyed her critically, as though he was waiting for her to continue her accusation. What kind of man allowed such a thing? He finally spoke up,

 

“We did not think you wanted anything to do with us...” He eyed her coldly, “No matter, good day, Lady Stark. Perhaps we will see you at Hornwood in the future.”

 

He marched off, leaving Alysanne glaring after him in disbelief. What a man her sister had married.. 

 

~~

 

Alysanne pouted in the corner of the Commander’s tent, tolerating Catelyn’s attempts at conversation, her arms folded petulantly. She hated waiting. Especially since all she could do was speculate on Daryn Hornwood’s comments, before he left. How could he think they wanted nothing to do with Teora? They’d written her, often. They all did. Not a letter was returned, not a scrap of news. The Hornwood was hardly a day’s ride from Winterfell, and they’d never even come to visit. The siblings had never been allowed to travel to see her, they’d all been too young, but Lord Hornwood couldn’t take the time to bring his wife to visit her family, not  _ once _ , in four years?

 

It seemed an age before there was finally the distant clamour of the army, returning to camp, and Catelyn finally ended her vain attempts at engaging Alys in conversation, both of them apprehensive, wondering who would be missing when the council returned. 

 

Unable to wait longer, Alysanne leapt up from her chair, going to look out, and immediately ran into Robb’s arms, her brother entering the tent. He laughed a little, sweeping her up in an embrace that lifted her feet from the ground. 

 

“A decisive victory.” He said, setting her down with a grin. “And look, I’ve brought you a gift, for all that you suffered in King’s Landing.”

 

He pulled her to the side so others could enter in behind him, and two men dragged in a tall, golden-haired man, his arms bound behind him with chains, and he was thrown to the dirt at their feet. 

 

“I bring you the Kingslayer, my dear sister. Jaime Lannister.” 

 

Robb was positively gloating now, but Catelyn looked furious, her gaze fixed on the Lannister. A tiny smirk flitted her lips as she looked down at him, more men entering the tent. A hand touched her arm and she found Lord Bolton beside her, the faintest hint of a smile quirking his thin lips. Raising her hand, she curled her fingers around his and squeezed gently, knowing it was the limit of physical affection she could display in the company of the others. 

 

“How many men did you lose?” Alysanne looked again to Robb. 

 

“Five Lannisters dead, for every one of ours. Their entire force has been either killed, or captured. The Kingslayer managed to cut down a few of my personal guard, though..”

 

“Who?”

 

“Eddard and Torrhen Karstark, and Daryn Hornwood.”

 

Alysanne’s gaze shot to Robb’s at that, and he gave her a pained smile, thinking the same she was. Their sister was truly alone now, no husband or children, and evidently now thinking her own kin had abandoned her. 

 

~~~

 

The maid set down the tray, the metallic clink resonating through the room, and Teora looked to the sound. She had not enjoyed the suffocating company her ladies maid employed, surely in an attempt to lift her mistress’s spirits. Even growing up she was perfectly pleased to spend time on her own, drawing in her sketchbook, imagining what flowers must look like without the sting of winter frost or the droop of rain. With Daryn gone she rarely had a moment to herself, contrary to what she had thought would be the case.

 

Standing from where she sat on the side of her bed, Teora allowed her maid to begin dressing her, though it was still very early in the morning. She eyed herself in the mirror that was perched on a shelf, and her brow furrowed. Her face was graver, more lines between her brows than around her mouth, a sign of the years she had spent in sorrow than she did in happiness. 

 

There had never been words of her beauty, not like those said of her sisters. She was the picture of her mother, the dark auburn hair holding a dull tone, only vibrant in the sunlight. Her dark eyes often clouded with thought. But she was simple, perhaps a bit muscular for feminine ideals of their time, though she was still rather petite. Her collarbones protruded almost painfully, making her look more malnourished than she was and she considered it a glaring flaw.

 

Within a matter a minutes, she was dressed, ready to begin her day walking about with small purpose in maintaining the household in her husband’s absence, her ladies maid always at her heels. Today was market day, and that would offer temporary distraction in preparing the goods to be sold and those to be bought. Ordinarily, the housekeeper would oversee the preparations, but Teora had joined the efforts in hopes to busy herself.

 

At midday Teora washed her face in her metallic basin, relishing the moment she had to herself in her room, when the moment was gone too soon. Her maid came running down the hall, and Teora let out a longsuffering sigh.

 

“M’lady, a messenger approaches.”

 

Teora wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress, in no hurry given her maid’s tendency to overreact. As she walked down the corridor, she looked out the window to the courtyard, and gripped the frame suddenly, hardly believing the sight before her.

 

Ripping through the halls and down the stairs to the first floor, Teora found the front door wide open, the staff standing about, looks of solemn apologies masking their faces.

 

A boy dismounted his horse, a bundle of fabric under one arm, and he approached Teora on the step where she stood. The biting wind picked up, and her cheeks were wet already. 

 

“Lady Hornwood.”

 

“No, don’t.” She ached, feeling feverish, “That isn’t mine.”

 

“M’lady, I’m sorry, Lord Hornwood has fallen. Killed in battle.”

 

“No. Killed isn’t the same as fallen.” She dropped to her knees painfully, ignoring the looks of worry from those around her and her voice was thick, “Who slain my husband?”

 

“Jaime Lannister, m’lady.” 

 

Her jaw set and she began to weep, pushing words out through the tears that congested her speech as she reached for the orange fabric the boy held,

“Give it to me.”

 

The boy placed the cloak on her lap gently, backing away and retreating to his steed. He left, and members of the staff went back into the house. 

 

She ran a hand over the sigil that stood out like a glaring bugle in the sun, and she looked down at it with a detached expression. 

 

It was not until she was completely alone in the gusty courtyard that she began to rock on her heels, drawing the cloak up to her chest and letting it soak up her tears. The wind pushed hard against her, and her hair billowed around, sticking to her tear soaked face. 

  
Lady Teora Stark she would be again.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Her back ached, sore from days riding on the worn road, and her dark eyes slipped closed for a long time, letting her horse follow alongside the edge of the brush lining the road. The icy damp air made the small hairs framing her face stick to her skin, and her cloak was heavy from water soaking through. She had almost left the cloak bearing the faded Hornwood color behind, tearing herself from the life she no longer lived, but she could not.

It had heralded the death of her husband, gone at so young an age, though that was the occupational hazard of men who would be bannermen to her family. Opening her eyes, Teora saw Daryn riding ahead of her, an illusion she welcomed, and wished he would always be a steady companion in her thoughts.

Teora realised she had been dreaming within a dream, her dark eyes merely clouding over, and as she and her animal rounded the bend, the hazy rise of smoke blowing in grey plumes alerted her to the camp, her destination.

As she neared the camp, the guard on watch commanded her to halt, yanking the reins from her hands,

“Stop! What business do you have here?”

“I am Lady Teora Hornwood, elder sister to King Robb. Take me to my brother.”

The guard obeyed, leading her horse to the commander’s tent, and she dismounted. She hesitated, looking at the washed out orange of her cloak, and straightened her back, lifting her chin. The guard looked at her and she widened her eyes, nodding to the closed tent flap.

He sighed, moving forward and lifting the flap for her, stepping aside and motioning her in. She went in, and her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a large table in the center of the tent, drawing attention from the rest of her surroundings. She scanned the space, and her gaze connected with the back of a fur cloak that covered a familiar figure, the curly head instantly recognizable. Robb stood in conversation with several bannermen, and Teora saw their mother by his side, facing her, the lines between her brows prominent in thought.

Catelyn’s head raised in faint disinterest at the arrival, surely expecting more bannermen, but her expression faltered a bit, her brown eyes fixed levelly on the girl that had entered.

“Teora..”

Robb’s head raised a bit.

“What, mother?”

Catelyn gave no response and Robb turned, disbelief on his expression as he looked at her, before it shifted suddenly to happiness.

“Teo!”

She was swept in a crushing embrace before she could speak, her brother lifting her off the ground and spinning her, the way they used to when they were young.

“Brother, how I’ve missed you.” Teora couldn't help but laugh, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she repeated, “How I’ve missed you.”

“Hother, will you please send for my sister?” Robb spoke quietly over her head, and there was the rustle of movement as someone left the tent.

“Our sisters,” Teora looked up at him expectantly, “Did they make it out of King’s Landing?”

“Sansa is still in King’s Landing.” Robb said, pulling back a bit to look down at her. “Arya hasn’t been seen since father.. She’s disappeared. Alysanne is here.”

“May the Gods have favor on them.” Teora saddened, the smile leaving her face, and then she looked up at Robb again, the smile returning, “But Alysanne is here, I’m so glad!”

The tent flap was again opened, and there was a gasp from behind her.

“Tia?”

The voice was soft, unsure, but one she recognised, nonetheless.

Teroa’s smile broadened, and she pulled away from Robb completely, turning toward her younger sister.

She froze, her dark eyes fixed on the man that stood behind her sister, Lord Bolton. It was not so much the man himself, but how close he stood to Alysanne.

Her sister’s arms were around her before she had more time to dwell on it, holding her tightly.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Alysanne whispered.

“I know, I know,” She smoothed a hand down her sister’s hair, and pulled back enough to kiss Alys’ forehead, “But I promised myself not to let you be without me.”

Alysanne’s pale eyes were glistening with tears when she finally released her, but her smile was broad. The girl was less than a girl now, having grown into a young woman in the time they had been apart. Her skin a spotless ivory and her hair a slightly darker shade of auburn than it used to be, and she was now the same height as Teora.

Teora noticed a new light in her sister’s eyes; despite the hardships she had seen, joy resided. Her curiosity was peaked but was won over by her sudden fatigue.

“Come, Teo. You must surely be in need of rest and food. We can talk later. For now, they will prepare a tent for you.” Robb laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her.

Teora nodded, admitting her fatigue, and she turned suddenly to their mother, who had been standing silently behind them.

“Mother,” She went to Catelyn, embracing her quickly before leaving the tent with her siblings, leaving Catelyn with her arms slack at her sides, hardly betraying any joy for her daughter’s return.

Once inside the tent that would be her courters, she took off the Hornwood cloak, clutching it to her chest as her brother and sister watched her test the cot. She smiled at them, though there was a tiredness to her eyes.

“We can talk about the recent events after you’ve had some rest, I’m just next door.” Robb joined her at the cot, and smiled to Alysanne by the tent flap, “And Alys is a few tents down, though we will all be in the commander’s tent much of the time, so just go there.”

~~

Teora rubbed her eyes, and the dim light of a fire outside her tent told her it was still night. She tried and tried to fall back to sleep, only to be woken in a fit with nightmares. The most dreadful of dreams was the recurring face of her husband, bleeding from his nose and calling out for a son, an heir they did not have.

She woke one last time, the bright light of morning setting the tent walls aglow, and she sat up, her back sweaty. A grey dress was laid carefully on the end of her cot, and she changed into it quickly, braiding her hair back. She was about to tie the orange cloak around her shoulders but stopped, that was not her house anymore. She was a full Stark once again.

She found the commander's tent, more from memory and the fact that it was the largest tent in the camp, and entered it. Her brother stood with his back to the flap, leaning over the massive table in the middle of the room, bannermen on either side of him.

They were speaking in low tones, Robb tapping a fingertip impatiently against one of the steel lions on the map, representing Lannister men, but they looked up as she entered.

She bowed her head slightly at him, offering him a smile, moving to fiddle with the chair that had been discarded nearest the table, and her brother watched her. She glanced at the map that was sprawled across the table, biting back from speaking. She would be seen, not heard.

It surprised her, then, to see Alysanne at the table, her sister sending her a sleepy half-smile, attempting to be inconspicuous as she rubbed at her eyes. Teora repressed a smirk. It was good to see her sister had changed little. Alysanne could likely sleep through an invasion, and getting her out of bed before midday had always been a challenge.

She went around the table quietly, joining her sister’s side unnoticed by the men,

“Father would be proud, to see you standing at the war table with the King of the North and his bannermen.”

Alysanne smiled faintly.

“I’m not sure how much of a help I am, but it’s insightful, being able to observe.”

“Your presence is important, as eldest it should be me, but I have been gone and you have risen to the occasion. Better than I ever could, I am sure.” She spoke in hushed tones, granting a glance from Robb as he spoke and he winked, overhearing.

“Our little sister has grown up to be quite the asset to the war, Teo.” Robb commented, and Alys shoved his shoulder playfully.

“Tia knows everything I do, Robb. You should add her to your council, as well.” Alys brushed off the compliment.

Teora smiled, but didn’t protest, instead looking her brother in the eye in amusement,

“I did give my husband some rather good advice. Once,” She smirked, making a joke out of her sister’s volunteering of her services, “he even let me unroll the map.”

Alysanne choked back a laugh, and Robb chuckled.

“Your sister was responsible for our decisive victory in the Battle of the Whispering Wood.”

Teora looked up sharply at the deep voice that spoke, gazing at Lord Bolton, who stood on Robb’s other side. She fought back the sharp pain that went through her at the name, again seeing glimpses of Daryn’s face, covered in blood, his eyes vacant, but pushed the thoughts away, looking towards Alysanne. Her sister’s head was lowered a bit, her cheeks pink at Lord Bolton’s praise, and Teora narrowed her eyes at her.

Her sister had always exhibited a tell, since she was young, an indication of her interest towards another, something Teora had picked up on immediately. The last she’d seen it, Alys had been twelve, did she still do it?

As she watched, her sister shifted, drawing her hand back and reaching for the end of her long braid, twisting the end of it around her finger and pulling a bit, rubbing her thumb absently over the strands. She still did it.

Lord Bolton was far older than Alysanne, though she considered her sister’s taste in men may differ from hers. If rumors were true, Bolton still exercised the barbaric method of flaying, which Eddard Stark had outlawed, said to have the skins of his victims sewn together to make capes. A practice that littered the halls deep within the Dreadfort. It did not matter if that was a wild tale made by her ancestors, what mattered was that he was as sure to turn on their family when it pleased him. It was said he used leeches routinely to suck out the so-called ‘bad blood’, but she was less inclined to believe that was more than a metaphor to describe his deplorable lifestyle. She felt uncomfortable to look at him, his face utterly passive, his mouth in a thin, harsh line when he was deep in thought. What about him could be appealing to her sister? It didn’t matter, she could not be allowed to become attached.

Conversation had resumed around the table while she had been lost in thought, and she turned her attention to the map, but kept a curious eye turned towards Alysanne through the rest of the meeting.

 ~~

_Thwack._

Teora wandered towards the sound, still curiously musing on her sister. She’d changed so much, and yet, had hardly changed at all. Turning the corner around a few tents, she found a makeshift archery range had been set up, and Alysanne stood in the center, bow in hand, her attention concentrated on the target.

_Thwack._

She thought to call out to her sister, comment on her marksmanship, but the sight of another figure gave her pause, and her lips pursed a bit. Lord Bolton stood a few paces to the side and behind Alysanne, his arms folded over his chest as he watched her.

Teora was resolute, wanting to get to bottom of the man’s interest in Alys, and she sauntered over to the pair, taking a bow of her own and nocking an arrow. Alys saw her and smiled broadly, and they went about a silent competition. Raising her arms, Teora spotted her target, and she was aware of Lord Bolton’s gaze on her, and she let her finger slip on the drawback, setting the arrow loose. She missed the middle by far, hitting the second to last outside ring on the bullseye. She smirked but was quick to shrug, indifferent when her sister said a word of encouragement. She took up another arrow, turning to watch her sister hit her target in the dead center, and she looked slyly at Lord Bolton. He was quick to praise Alysanne,

“Very good.” He looked Alys in the eye, “You are improving.”

Teora raised a brow as her sister blushed yet again at his speaking to her. She was about to nock her arrow when she stopped, looking at Lord Bolton again. He had said Alys was improving, meaning this was not the first time he had watched her.

She turned her back quickly before he could see the wheels turning in her head, and nocked her arrow, raising her arm, missing again. She looked over her shoulder at him and there was a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth, a smugness. That was all she needed, he was surely showing favor towards her sister.

A bannerman walked onto the plot, informing Bolton that he had been requested in the commander’s tent. Alys watched him leave, and Teora in turn watched her. She huffed, nocking an arrow with speed, raising and shooting in one fluid motion.

Alysanne’s head snapped to the where the arrow was lodged, perfectly centered in the target before her elder sister, and her jaw dropped.

“I thought you were out of practice..” Alysanne commented dryly, arching an eyebrow at her as she set her bow aside.

“What ever gave you that idea?” She quipped playfully, smiling proudly, “We did have a range at Hornwood…”

Alysanne gazed at her curiously for a long moment, her eyebrows furrowed a bit, but she didn’t comment further.

“Besides, it gave my husband an excuse to gaze at me for hours on end…” She cleared her throat, mourning was not made easy when she used her own marriage as a point of conversation so often, “Do you have any admirers, Alys? Does Lord Bolton watch you often?”

Alysanne looked at her in surprise, but shrugged. “If he watches me _often_ , I am not aware of it. But he has watched me shoot once before. Which is how he knew I was improving. I was quite out of practice last time. Archery was not something the Lannisters thought a prudent pastime for their political prisoner.”

Teora wanted to push, but the mention of the Lannisters raised another question, but she was not accusing, only concerned,

“Robb said Sansa is still trapped in King’s Landing… How ever did you escape? Why could you not get her out too?”

Alysanne’s expression darkened a bit,

“Sansa is still to marry King Joffrey, Tia. She cannot leave, they are betrothed. I was a political hostage, to be used as a bargaining chip. I escaped because the Lannisters began to like me.” She said dryly. “They lowered my guard, letting me walk the keep unhindered. I stole a servant’s clothing and walked right out.”

Teora set the bow down slowly, and Alys saw that her hands were shaking slightly as she did,

“I wish the feeling of our world spinning out of control would stop. If I could snatch Sansa away, I would. I had been there to save you from imprisonment, I would have.” She looked at Alys, dark eyes to pale ones, “Do you know I received news of father? From a common pageboy, not a letter sent to me ever arrived.”

Alysanne seemed stunned by that. “You-- you never received any of the letters? Father wrote to you, _I_ wrote to you.. We all did.”

“No, not one. I accused Daryn of hiding them from me, I was so sure I would get at least one from you or Robb, or father.” Her voice was thick with welling tears, “But he was innocent, attempting to find the letters somehow. But it was useless.”

Alysanne’s pale eyes glistened a bit at this revelation. “Sansa wrote you, as well. Even Arya.. I helped her-- she drew you pictures. Pictures of the Weirwood tree, she wanted you to remember ours, even though the Hornwood had one. She drew Winterfell for you, so you wouldn’t forget your home. When we never heard anything from you.. We thought you’d abandoned us. That you’d forgotten us.”

Teora rushed to her, pulling her sister into a tight embrace, and they were both crying into each others necks, “I could never forget you, you are my kindred spirit. And our sisters, and the boys.” She kissed Alys’ head, “We are bound together.”

She pulled back, taking Alysanne’s head in her hands, wiping a thumb under her eye,

“Let us remember that.”

~~

Teora found her mother sitting by herself to one side of the commander’s tent, her brows furrowed, deep in thought. They had not spoken since her arrival, and Catelyn had obviously been avoiding doing so, she never did forgive Teora for being the foolish girl she once was. She would not be pleased after what Teora was about to tell her, though she never was.

Teora took a chair opposite her mother, and Catelyn started, looking warily at her eldest child.

“Mother, we have not spoken since I arrived,” She placed a hand lightly on Catelyn’s knee, “I have much to tell you.”

“Please, daughter, whatever you have to say, I don’t think I want to hear it.” She got her scepticism from her mother, no doubt of that.

“You need to know why I failed you. Why Robb is more capable than I ever could be at ruling the North.” She gauged Catelyn’s reaction, continuing when her mother’s face became increasingly pinched, “When I wed Daryn, I did my best to be a dutiful wife.”

“I don’t doubt you did,” Catelyn sneered, and she saw an odd bit of Alysanne when she did, “Spare me the details of your attempts, Teora.”

Teora inhaled deeply, she must keep her cool.

“Do you remember what you told me on my wedding morn?”

“I told you a lot of things, you cannot expect me to remember it all.”

Catelyn was her mother, but she did a crack job of acting like she was anything more than an indifferent governess. Teora went on,

“You said that whatever I do, don’t have girl children. While they can inherit, they cannot continue the house name…”

Catelyn sighed, “Yes, I did say that.”

“Well, I had two girls.” She adjusted herself in the chair, straightening her back, “And both died. In a horrific accident.”

“Teora, stop.” Her mother stood suddenly.

“Daryn and I had another child, mother.” She looked up at Catelyn, “We had a son. An heir.”

Catelyn sat again, as though the weight of the news was too much to bear.

“I did not know.”

“Because I never told you. I lost him, after I heard the news of father.”

For the first time in her life, Teora saw undeniable regret wash over her mother’s face. Whether it was regret for her harsh treatment of Teora, or something else entirely, she could not be sure.

~~

Teora went back to her tent, tying her hair into a fresh braid, failing in catching the wisps that always managed to escape, and she ran a finger over the collar of her old cloak, the orange material discarded on the cot.

She could spend hours lost in thought, but she was interrupted by the sound of jingling metal outside, her brother peeking a head in cautiously,

“I’m decent, Robb. Come in.”

Robb came in, grinning, but he became serious, fiddling with the hilt of his sword,

“I told you we could discuss everything later. Sorry, I forgot until now.”

Teora smiled, moving the cloak and holding it as she sat on her cot, motioning for him to join her,

“It’s alright, Robb, you are a busy man.” She laid a hand on his forearm, “You’re king now, I am so proud of you.”

Robb smiled, and it reached his blue eyes, but he nodded and moved on, proving that he too had not changed as much as he’d like to say since she last saw him, those years ago.

“Much has been altered since you left Winterfell, Teo. But you already know that. But what was your life like away from us?”

“It was lonely, that much is true,” She sighed, “But I was well looked after.”

“Daryn was gone much of the time?”

She hesitated, not sure how much their mother had revealed to him, though it seemed even her mother was unaware of most things, considering her letters were not getting through.

“In body, no, he was not gone very much. In spirit, yes, he was gone most days.”

Robb’s brow stitched together in thought and he questioned further,

“You quarrelled often?”

“We struggled to produce a living heir, and our marriage suffered for it.”

“I’m sorry, sister,” He placed a hand on her back, “my heart dropped clear to my throat when he was killed right in front of me.”

Teora looked at him with sudden attention,

“You saw it happen?”

“He was in my personal guard, Teo. I-” He looked down, “I had to scrub his blood from my face."

She was silent, her eyes searching his, clouding over with tears, and she set her jaw.

“There was nothing I could do…”

“I know, I don’t blame you, brother.” She got up, putting on her husband’s cloak and draping the furs of her Stark cloak over top, “I just need time. To think over this new information.”

“Of course.”

She left him behind in her tent, with no intention of thinking. ‘Ready, shoot, aim’ was her modus operandi, and why break her impeccable pattern now?

~~

She passed the archery range, following the line of torches that led towards the outer edge of camp, walking with her fur cloak held closed tightly against the damp air. 

A garish form, bars stuck deep in the mud, created the sparsest of cells, the lack of luxurious accommodations surely even more of an affront to the Lannister.

Teora waved a hand to the guard, sending him off, and he obeyed. She had to squint to distinguish the shape that sat forlorn against the back of the cell, covered in mud, making it hard to tell the difference. The man raised his head, suddenly aware of the disappearance of his guard and the new form that took their place. Jaime Lannister smirked, and Teora looked at him levelly, preparing for whatever quip he may produce, though she was well equipped herself.

“Ah, another Stark. This just isn’t my day, is it.”

“You sound awfully smug for someone whose arse is full of mud.”

He snorted, but looked at her in an almost menacing way, and she faked a shudder,

“Is it cold? I hadn’t noticed, as I am wearing thick furs and you are not.”

“What do you want, just get it over with.” He smirked again, “Though I hear you’re not even allowed near me, Lady Alysanne.”

Teora was about to respond when she looked at him quizzically. Quick to recover, she ran a hand over the bars as she made her way around to where he sat,

“I only want to gut you, but not before you answer me this…” She crouched, speaking in a lone tone in his ear, “Did you enjoy killing Daryn Hornwood?”

His eyebrows furrowed a bit as his pale gaze met hers.

“Who?”

“One of the countless you murdered on that field, my sister’s husband.”

He actually rolled his eyes at that, giving her a look that could only be described as disgusted condescension.

“There’s a war on, Lady Stark. May I point out that your brother has slaughtered thousands of Lannister men this day? Many die in war.”

“If you think this is a battle of the wits, Ser Lannister, you will find you will not last long.”

“Oh.. I think you’ll find I can last longer than you think, Teora Stark.” His lips curled into a salacious smirk, accompanied by a rather obvious look over her body.

Teora sighed, ignoring the innuendo, her parade was over. She disrobed of the furs, draping them over and arm and revealed the orange of House Hornwood she had worn underneath. She crouched by the man again,

“Oh, how awful, you’ve disarmed my ploy.”

“A pleasure, though that is not the only way I know how to disarm.” He sent her another sickening glance over.

“I would say the same about myself, _Ser Jaime_.” She poked him hard in the back to emphasize his title, the arrow she had slid into her sleeve making its mark between his vertebrae, and he stiffened. “You Lannisters, always underestimating to the point of stupidity.”

“Oh, for the love of-- Teo, what do you think you’re doing?”

She was hauled unceremoniously to her feet by the back of the dress, Robb standing over her with a look of exasperation.

“I told you she was doing something stupid.” Alysanne spoke from behind them, her arms folded as she looked down at Jaime with a small frown.

Robb gave a heavy sigh, digging in the pocket of his tunic and flipped a gold coin in her direction, shaking his head, and Alysanne caught it with a faint smirk.

“You should know by now that I always know what she’s doing, Robb. It’s that connection.” She grinned at Teora and sauntered off, her laughter ringing back towards them.

Teora glared after her sister, and struggled against the grip her brother had on her garments,

“Let go, Robb. I’m not a child.”

Robb did just the opposite, dragging his sister away from the prisoner, leaving Jaime Lannister with a look of smug gratification. On they went and he brought her back to her tent, and she torn herself from his grip finally. Without another word, she turned her back to him and he heard the quiet sniffs of her weeping, raising his brows in alarm.

“Oh, Teo…” He backed up toward the tent flap, not prepared for the sudden onslaught of emotion.

“It’s alright, Robb, you should go.” She sniffled again messily, “I’m sorry.”

Robb put a hand on her shoulder, and turned to leave, serious again,

“Don’t pull a stunt like that again, Teora. I will not be disobeyed.”

She gave a halfhearted nod, and he left the tent.

Teora was used to crying alone, more often than not for her own mistakes.

~~

Teora left the tent, deciding to again seek out Alysanne. She wouldn’t hear the end of what she tried earlier that day, but listening to Alysanne’s chatter would get her mind off of her troubles.

She spotted a glimpse of auburn hair going past the archery range, and she followed, drawing up short to see her sister walking the edge of the line of tents, Lord Bolton at her side.

Something was most definitely going on. Try as she might, Alysanne had never been one that was good at keeping secrets, at least not her own. She was the most trustworthy with others’ secrets, but she couldn’t hide a thing from Teora when it came to her own thoughts.

Trailing after them at a distance, her eyes narrowed a bit as Alysanne reached up and took his arm, far too casually. She’d make a name for herself amongst the men, if she wasn’t careful.

He leaned closer to say something to her and she looked up at him, a smile on her face, and they turned out of sight beyond the last row of tents. Teora crept up to the edge, but heard no voices, and ever so carefully peeked around the side. Lord Bolton’s back was to her, Alysanne smirking faintly at whatever he said quietly, and Teora’s eyes widened as he kissed Alys suddenly, her jaw dropping in shock. It was no chaste kiss, either, this was the passionate kiss of lovers.

She stepped back quickly, a hand pressed to her mouth, and hurried off, deciding to confront her sister later, when Lord Bolton wasn’t around. This certainly explained his attention towards her, though.

She returned to the archery range, deciding to shoot, given she had no sketchbook to clear her mind. She was joined a bit later by a tall man with close-cut blond hair, who smiled at her kindly.

“You’ll be King Robb’s elder sister?” He questioned, and she nodded with a gracious smile.

“Yes, I am Teora Stark.”

“I’m Anders.” He replied. “Trying your hand? I’ve had the honour of coaching your younger sister, Lady Alysanne.”

“I suppose I could use the practice.” She said mildly, taking the arrow he offered her.

She took a few shots, seeming to impress the man with her marksmanship, and had just taken a bet with him as to who could hit the target most accurately the most times out of ten, when footsteps approached. A glance over her shoulder showed Alysanne had joined them, and she wheeled around, checking suspiciously for Bolton’s presence.

“You may be better with the bow, Tia, but I can always beat you with hand-to-hand.” Alysanne spoke rather smugly, and Teora sighed. “We’ll see about that..”

She took another shot, then put the bow aside to frown at Alysanne.

“Where’s Lord Bolton?”

Alysanne’s eyebrows arched a bit at the slight annoyance in her question.

“He was called to the commander’s tent.. He’s Robb’s second in command, you know..”

“No, I didn’t know.” She nodded to Anders, taking Alysanne’s elbow and steering her sister away, out of earshot.

“I saw you with him.”

“When?” Alysanne didn’t sound particularly concerned, and Teora pursed her lips.

“Just now. Kissing him like a common whore, _honestly_ , Alysanne! He’s over twice your age, and you _must_ be careful how you are seen to behave in public!”

Alysanne paused, staring at her wide-eyed, genuine confusion on her face.

“Did.. Did Robb not tell you, Tia?”

“Tell me what?”

“I-- Lord Bolton and I are married, we were bound a few weeks past.”

Alysanne looked upset at this, agitation on her features.

“I’m so sorry, Tia, I assumed Robb or mother had said something to you.”

“No, but I suspected something…” She tried to look indifferent, failing when she had to turn away, her back to Alys, “Robb never said a word.”

She stomped off, then, seeking out the brother in question. Why _hadn’t_ he said anything? Surely, their younger sister’s marriage would have been a topic of discussion for them.

She found Robb in the commander’s tent, Lord Bolton across the table from him, deep in discussion, but both looked up when Teora stormed in.

“Teo.. Is something wrong?” Robb asked, somewhat alarmed by the expression on her face.

“You would marry our little sister, to him?” She stalked over to stand between Robb and Lord Bolton, “Do you know what kind of a man he is?”

She continued, interrupting her brother’s protest, “He is twice her age, Robb. She will be alone in a few years, widowed! Did you stop to consider what sort of a life she will have?”

Lord Bolton gazed at her with a frown, and Robb sighed, straightening.

“Marriages are for political purposes, Teo, you know that.”

“Do not tell me what I know, brother.” She was losing control, but it mattered not, “What I know is that there are far better men, young men, and there is no possible way Lord Bolton was your only immediate option.”

Robb raised his eyebrows, his head leaning back a bit, and she wished he did not look so taken aback rather than serious. She was about to continue her tirade, but it was his turn to interrupt, a sudden low pitch taking over his tone.

“I do not think it is any concern of yours, _sister_.” He mocked her, “You have been away and there is no way I could have included you in the decision.”

Her dark eyes flashed to Bolton, who had been standing motionless at the opposite end of the table, and he looked at her absently, the smallest smirk on the corner of his lips. She sneered, looking back at her brother.

“Alys will suffer, and you will be responsible, Robb.” She turned back to Bolton, “And you will suffer, if you ever lay a finger on Alysanne out of turn.”

He raised a brow in challenge and she bit her lip at her brother’s scolding, his voice lower now. She stepped toward Bolton, pushing further against the boundaries,

“I know what type of man you are, and you will grow tired of my sister, she is young, lively. Moral.”

Bolton made a noise to that, something she suspected was a repressed scoff of laughter, but still he didn’t speak, seeming to be waiting.

“Oh I’m sorry, are you waiting for me to finish?” She crossed her arms over her chest, and Robb made a sound of protest, though he didn’t know what she was capable of anymore, “I could banter to a statue all day, if need be.”

“Teo..” Robb warned quietly, and she scowled at him, daring him to interfere.

“No, Robb. You may be King, but I am still the eldest.” She turned her attention back to Bolton, stepping closer, “In a few years you will need to have a will drawn up, if you have not already, and do be a dear and leave your inheritance to Alysanne. That will be quite soon, I expect.”

With that, Bolton left the tent with a shake of his head, leaving Teora dissatisfied, and Robb glared at her.

Alysanne stepped in a moment later, her eyes narrowed a bit.

“What in seven hells is going on?”

Robb shook his head, “Nothing, Alys.”

And at the same moment, Teroa spoke up, “We were just discussing the matter of your… _marriage_ , to Lord Bolton.” She wanted to use the word ‘enslavement’ but thought better of it, and Robb sent her another glare.

“Why?” Alysanne asked, rather suspiciously, and exchanged a look with Robb over Teora’s head.

Robb glared at her, and she looked back at Alys, boldly ignoring her brother’s warning yet again.

“Because it’s beastly, Alys.” She fiddled with the edge of the table, a sign of an oncoming conversation Alys was not too keen on having, “That you should be bound to someone like him for the rest of his life. Though for your sake, I hope that will not be long.”

Alysanne looked at her in shock, bordering on anger. “What?” Her jaw had dropped a bit, glaring at her suddenly. “Mind your words, Tia.”

Teora looked at her levelly, realization washing over her face, “By the Gods- You are defending him. Do not tell me you love him… or even care for him.”

“He is my husband, whether you like it or not. As for loving him.. We’ve been bound for only a few weeks. I could not yet say, though he has not given me cause to hate him.”

“Not given you cause-” Teora’s own jaw dropped slightly, but rather than argue further, she looked at Robb, but turned back to her sister. Brushing past, she left the tent in a fury, not another word from her.

Alysanne gazed at Robb for a moment, and their brother shrugged in exasperation. Shaking her head, she turned and hurried off after her sister.

“Tia!”

Her sister didn’t slow, and she lifted her skirts a bit to run after her.

 _“Teora!_ ”

She grasped her arm, forcing her to stop and look at her.

“What’s the matter with you?!”

Teroa turned quickly, grasping Alys’s other arm, a bit too tightly, her voice betraying her fear, “You are content now, but your life is about to change, Alysanne. You will see horrors, and your husband will be the one that caused them.”

Alysanne stared at her in faint shock. “What are you talking about?” She asked quietly. “What do you know?”

“I know what he does to those that cross him, for Gods sake do not cross him.” She pulled herself from her sister’s grip, walking onto the makeshift archery range, and began shooting the targets with rapid force. When she hit the center, she picked up another arrow, getting several close together in the center.

Alysanne watched, but her mind was reeling, what on earth did Teora mean?

“Teora, why are you being so cryptic?”

Teroa didn’t answer, instead continuing her assault of the target.

Alysanne gave a huff of annoyance, taking up a bow and approaching.

 _Thwack_.

Teora still ignored her, loosing another arrow, but paused as one sailed past, splitting the shaft of the one she’d just hit, and stuck, quivering, between the two halfs. Turning in exasperation, she found Alysanne just lowering her bow, her face livid.

“Don’t be a show off, Alys.” She tried to change the subject.

“Then bloody tell me. Tell me what you mean.”

“You were meant to marry someone that would keep you safe, someone who would not turn you from us.” At her sister’s furrowed brow she tried again, “Do you know what he is capable of?”

“Of course.” Alysanne muttered. “We grew up with the tales of House Bolton. But he has been nothing but kind to me. I don’t see what you’re so worried about. He is sworn to protect me, to provide for me, as my Lord husband.”

“Kindness turns to boredom, Alys,” She added under her breath, bowing her head, “I would know.” She looked up again, “Why do you think we grew up hearing those tales? Did you not think there was some truth behind them? Father outlawed flaying, yet the only house that is rumored to still practice it is House Bolton? And what of his bastard, Ramsay?”

“What of Ramsay? I know he is a cruel boy, but I’ve yet to meet him. Lord Bolton tells me he has been tasked with dealing with the Ironborn that have taken Moat Cailin. But it matters not, for I am not wed to Ramsay."

“No, you are only wed to his father, who raped the boy’s mother, conceiving him.”

Alysanne shrugged faintly, not looking at her as she set her bow aside.

Teroa tilted her head against her bow, which she held in front of her, the tip on the ground,

“It may matter not, Alys, to you. But perhaps it should.”

  
She nocked another arrow, setting it loose in the center of the target, splitting a few arrows in half, the wood peeling in splintering curls.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“What is it, Alysanne?”

 

She paused, caught in her quiet observation of him, and bit the inside of her cheek.

 

“Teora doesn’t approve.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

“Why is she so angry? What have you done that would warrant her hate?”

 

“I have done nothing to her.” He replied, sounding nearly offended. “I have met her once, previously, and our interaction did not go beyond introductions. She was there briefly when I met with Lord Hornwood, the father of her husband.”

 

“If I ask questions of you, will you tell me the truth?”

 

He looked at her for a long moment.

 

“I will not lie to you, Alysanne. And because of that, you may wish to be careful what you ask. You may not like the answers.”  

 

Her face blanched a bit, but she went over, sitting on the edge of the bed, and he turned his knees towards her a bit to face her.

 

“I will tell you things I have heard, about you, your house, your bastard son... For now, I ask you simply confirm or deny. There’s time for things to be explained later.”

 

His expression was unreadable but he acquiesced.

 

“House Bolton still practices flaying, despite my father outlawing it in the north.”

 

His lips pursed a bit.

 

“Yes.”

 

She lifted her chin a little, looking at him steadily. “You have a cloak made from the skins of the enemies you’ve flayed.”

 

He sniffed at that. “No.”

 

“There is a secret dungeon in the Dreadfort, filled with torture devices.”

 

“There are many secret rooms in the Dreadfort.”

 

“Ah, but that isn’t what I asked.”

 

“The only torture device I need is the blade that has been passed through generations. A small knife, the blade thin enough to--” He cut off suddenly, shaking his head. “No, to the best of my knowledge, there is no such room.”

 

“You enjoy causing pain.”

 

He tilted his head a bit to look at her, and she swore in that moment that his eyes darkened a little.

 

“Yes.”

 

Her gaze flicked away, unable to hold his after that.

 

“Ramsay was conceived when you hanged the miller and raped his wife.”

 

That question earned the longest silence, and when she dared glance his way, he was staring at her pensively.

 

“Yes.”

 

She sucked in a breath, forcing her gaze back to him. She would not show weakness, would not show fear.

 

“Teora was right about you..”

 

He looked at her mildly. “I do not know what your sister has said about me.”

 

“She thinks you will grow bored of me. That I should be afraid of you.”

 

“Why should I grow bored of you?” He frowned. “But she is right, you would be a fool not to fear me. I have done things that would give you nightmares.”

 

“But I needn’t be afraid if I don’t cross you? You will keep me under your protection?”

 

“Yes,” He said plainly, and she took comfort in that.

 

~~

 

“Tia..” She waited until her sister looked up at her. “What did you mean when you said when ‘kindness will turn to boredom’?”

 

“I didn’t know you heard that…” Teora signed, almost embarrassed. “I only meant that men do not often know what married life is outside of political moves and the wife’s duties to them…”

 

She shook her head to herself, knowing full well that was what came with the territory of advantageous marriages. Love and happiness were afterthoughts if present at all. Teora Stark had been lucky enough to know a little of that.

 

“What does that matter?” Alysanne asked quietly. “So long as a husband keeps his promise to his wife, to protect her, is that not the only thing that matters? Men often turn their eye elsewhere.” Alysanne tried to speak casually but failed to hide the vague tinge of jealousy in her voice.

 

“Yes, I know that. But I only meant-” She looked down again, pulling at the ends of her auburn braid, “It can turn to more than boredom, to resentment… If the wife is not performing her duties. Or the husband fails in his protection.”

 

“You mean if I fail to give him a child.”

 

She shook her head and then nodded as though she changed her mind, and when she looked at her sister, a tear slipped down her cheek, but she offered no explanation.

 

“What?” Alysanne looked at her with a confused frown.

 

“No matter,” She wiped her face hastily, “Don’t listen to me, Alys. I have the annoying habit of revealing unnecessary details. I only hope he does keep you under his protection.”

 

“He has said he would, and Lord Bolton is not a man to say things he does not mean.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of…”

 

“Of him speaking the truth? Better a painful truth than a sweet lie, no?”

 

“The truth? Of what?” She shook her head, “Honestly, Alys. The truth is that you do indeed need to fear him, for what he might do to you.”

 

“But you must know that there is a difference between fearing someone, and to actually be afraid of them? One could argue that a woman _should_ fear her husband. Because while yes, he is my Lord husband and my protector, I must never forget who he is or what he is capable of.”

 

“Fear of his position and capabilities turn into one when he is crossed, is that not so?” She pushed a hand to her forehead, a headache brewing, “But I see there is nothing I can do, nothing I could say that will alter your future.”

 

“What could be done?” Alysanne gave a faint, sad smile. “Even if I was afraid of him, he is my Lord husband. What’s done is done, Tia.” She took her sister’s hands in hers. “I appreciate your concern, really, but I cannot allow myself to fear him when he has given me no reason to.”

 

Teora slid her hands away, her brow furrowed at the last comment, “A man does not wait when an arms-length away from a bear to draw his sword. I suggest you keep yours sharp and ready, Alysanne.”

 

“Roose is no bear, don’t be so silly. And besides, he’s been very kind. I’m sure he’ll grow on you.”

 

Teora’s head snapped up at that, and she stood slowly, looking Alysanne in the eye as she did, the dark of her irises flashing. Alysanne lied, and they both knew it. A silent exchange passed between them, and Alys saw the same brash determination she had before when her sister stormed off to assault the archery range.

 

Alysanne drew herself up a bit, her features pinched a bit in annoyance. She sniffed a faint laugh. “I would not recommend rashness. But then, it always was one of your defining qualities..”

 

Teora’s jaw was set, and without a word, she left the tent, which was becoming a habit when she could not have the last word.

 

~~

 

Alys managed to avoid Teora for the following few days, distancing herself so as not to say or do anything she may regret, which Teora seemed to reciprocate. What she did regret, however, was the change she saw in her elder sister. The anger, the reckless spirit; the characteristics seemed hyperactive, as though Teora had been replaced by another woman entirely. She used to be so joyful, hardly a care in the world. It was hard to grasp, that someone could change so drastically in the course of only a few years. Though the death of their father and Daryn Hornwood must have had an enormous effect on her, among other things it seemed.

 

She sat, watching Robb play tug of war with Grey Wind, missing Acantha. When she'd made it to the camp from King's Landing, Robb had been loath to tell her, at her inquires after her beloved direwolf, that Acantha had run off from Winterfell, not long after their father's death, and hadn't been seen since. Rubbing a hand across her face, she grimaced as her cheek burned, and pulled her braid over her shoulder. Grey Wind bounded over towards her, panting, and pawed at her leg. She scratched behind his ears for a moment before he trotted off back to Robb.

 

Robb waved to her but was distracted by the appearance of their sister, Teora looking highly miffed, and they retreated into a vacant tent nearby. Alysanne rose, brushing at her skirt, before going over to see what had drawn their sister’s wrath. Once inside, Teora stopped just inside the door, making Alys bump into her, and she sent her sister a glare.

 

Teora stood, hands on her hips, scolding their brother, “By the Gods, Robb. You aren’t to be trusted with anyone’s marriage plans, especially not your own!”

 

“Once again, I don’t think you have much say, Teo.” Robb looked to Alys then, and she offered him no sympathy, having not a clue what Teora meant.

 

Not unless…

 

“Robb, don’t tell me you- you didn’t-,” Alysanne interjected.

 

“How could you do such a thing?” Teora cut her off. 

 

“I married the woman I have come to love, don’t say it as though she were not deserving of your respect.” He was becoming agitated, Alys could tell, but then again, they all were.

 

“The matter of her status or reputation has little to do with the fact you have blatantly defied your duty! As king-”

 

“ _I_ am king, Teora. _I_ am!” His voice rose above even a controlled holler, and Alys saw Teora flinch. “And I will not be questioned or challenged on this any further!”

 

Alys glanced between the two, the tension building more rapidly by the minute, but bite her tongue hard, the sinking feeling her siblings were about to do something that would have repercussions.

 

“Robb. Sword, now.”

 

Ah, how unfortunate that she be right, and that Teora do exactly what Robb claimed he did not want. A challenge.

 

With that, Teora left the tent again, brushing against Alysanne as she went, leaving Robb fuming in quiet fury. He obeyed a moment later, a hand on his hilt as he and Alys left the tent.

 

A few paces from the commander’s tent stood Teora, having shed her cloak, holding a sword in her left hand firmly.

 

“Unsheath your sword, brother.”

 

“Teo-”

 

“Now.”

 

He did so, but not before sending Alys a knowing look, Teora was much too out of practice to be making challenges. He approached Tia, and she raised her blade in front of her face, which he tapped with his own.

 

She stepped back, her eyes steely and serious, and she raised her blade again, and he brought his own to stick her side, but she blocked it. What was her point? He stopped, confused,

 

“Teo, you can’t really expect this to solve anything? What’s done is done.”

 

“I didn’t ask for a crowd.” She looked at Alys and Roose, who had joined the small circle that had formed around them.

 

“Teora.”

 

“You can be so thick.” She was granted another glare at that. “Have you learned nothing? You may think you are a man grown, and perhaps you are. Because in true classic male form, you have ignored what you must do, and chosen that which you cannot have.”

 

Alys rolled her eyes. She thought this would be exciting and now she was just disappointed, wishing she had ripped him a good one herself. If anything, it would have been more satisfying. Before she could make Teora aware of the fact, her sister tapped Robb’s blade abruptly, and he jumped back a step, engaging themselves in a swift match. Blocking each other in a rhythm that showed Teora was not out of practice after all. _The little_ … she continued to manipulate in order to surprise.

 

Robb and Teora continued, and he had shed his fur cloak. They were traveling close to the edge of onlookers that had gathered, causing Alys to take a few steps back.

 

“You didn’t- Even- Invite me.” Teo grinned, protesting between swings, though Robb knew it was not all in jest.

 

Skimming a bit closer, they were near where Bolton stood unmoving, their blades filling the air with the sound of scraping steel. They drew closer, though only Teora noticed, and she swung around in a flash, her blade suddenly sitting right on Lord Bolton’s throat, and she exhaled rapidly, her eyes wide and brow sweaty. He gave a look of near exasperation, a gasp escaping Alysanne’s lips.

 

Teora’s pulse was loud in her ears and she heard Robb give protest,

 

“Teo, put your sword down. This is between you and me.”

 

When she made no move, his voice dropped, “Teora. Drop it, now.”

 

Still no movement, she was inches from Bolton’s face, her sword even closer in his neck, and she studied his pale eyes in fury. She could end him, though she had not planned to at the start.

 

“I’m done,” Robb said, irritation colouring his voice. “I have important matters to deal with that do not involve a petty spat with my sister.”

 

Teora only huffed, gripping tighter to her hilt, and she relented, stepping back from Bolton, whose steely expression betrayed nothing, not even relief, but held simple annoyance, looking at her like she was a petulant child that had been allowed too many liberties.

 

There was the scraping of steel being drawn from the sheath and Alysanne held up her sword, looking over the blade.

 

“It’s been quite a time since we last sparred, sister.” She said quietly, her gaze flickering to Teora. “Shall we?”

 

“Remember, the goal is to stick me with the pointy end.” She was smug now, remembering what Arya used to say.

 

Alysanne sighed heavily, striking at her with her blade, and Teora deflected it, surprised at the force behind it. Her sister was riled, no doubt at her threatening her precious Lord husband.

 

Teora paced backward to the centre of the circle that had been made by onlookers and bannermen, setting her sword on her shoulder casually, raising her brows in challenge,

 

“Come, little sister, don’t dally.”

 

Alysanne struck at her again, her taunts clearly goading her to attack impulsively, rather than strategically. Swordplay had never been Alysanne’s strong suit in the first place, given Catelyn had been so adamant that she was not a boy, and therefore drew the line at training with a full blade. She was much better at combat with a dagger, the long blade of the sword throwing off her perfected balance.

 

They fought for a good bit, the singing of steel on steel saying what they would not. Alysanne had improved, but Teora was still better. Catching an opening in Alysanne’s defenses, Teora threw out a hand, shoving Alysanne in the chest and forcing her to stagger back a step as she struck with her blade, and Alysanne brought her hand up, touching her cheek in shock. Her fingers came away bloody from the cut Teora had slashed over her cheek, and she wiped her hand on her trousers and sheathed her sword.

 

“You never did play nice, Tia..” She muttered, shaking her head before and turning and stalking off.

 

Teora sheathed her own sword, smirking, but it left her face when her gaze connected with Roose Bolton. He held a grin, utterly devilish, but his eyes were narrowed on her, and she returned the nonverbal challenge. As the small crowd dispersed, a group of bannermen walked by and she stuck close by the side of a larger one, appearing to vanish from Bolton’s view, and she returned to her tent to wash for that night’s meal.

 

~~

 

Alysanne stomped into the tent, swiping angrily at the persistent trickle of blood down her cheek and the tears that threatened. Footsteps followed after her, a hand laying on her arm, and she stopped quickly and blinked up at Roose.

  
  
His hand came up to her cheek, touching the blood, and his eyebrows pinched as his gaze flickered to his stained fingertips.

  
  
She sat on the end of the bed as he found a rag and dampened it with water from a cup on the table, cleaning away the blood from her skin.

  
  
"It's not deep. It will not scar." He said after a time, and she looked up at him quietly, seeing his lips drawn tightly, his eyes narrowed.

  
  
"Roose?" She finally asked softly, and his gaze flickered to her before he tossed the rag to the table.

  
  
"Your sister is very lucky she is under the protection of the King."

  
  
"Why?"

  
  
"Because if she wasn't, I would drag her to the center of camp and horsewhip her for daring to harm you."

  
  
"What-- Roose, she was just playing. It's not the first time such a thing has happened, even I have given her a scratch or two. She didn't mean to cut me."

  
  
"It does not matter whether or not she _meant_ to. Her behaviour is out of line."

  
  
She took his hand, drawing it to her to place a kiss on the back, seeming to startle him into silence.

  
  
"Please don't worry too much about her, my Lord. She will not pose a problem to you for much longer, in any case. We shall return to the North, she will be married off again, and I doubt you shall ever see her again.”

 

~~

 

The commander’s tent was awash with loud conversation, the bannermen all talking jovially, laughing, despite the battle looming. Weaving her way to the other end of the table, Alysanne slipped into the empty chair beside Roose, looking towards Robb, Teora already sat beside him. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the cut on her face pull a bit at the movement, and it stung.

 

Plates of simple food were being passed around, venison and potatoes, it seemed, but a hot meal was always welcomed. Bowls of some kind of stew also graced the table and plenty of wine. She was handed a pitcher, which she took gratefully, noticing Roose shaking his head at her out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Just because _you_ do not partake, does not mean that I mustn’t..” She complained, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smirk.

 

Teora got up from her seat, clothed in a midnight blue gown that made her look much more like Catelyn, and Alys’s eyes widened in alarm, bumping against Roose as she also stood and escaped to the other end of the table to pester Anders.

 

Teora attempted to follow her sister, but a firm hand on the crook of her arm stopped her, and she was surprised to see Roose Bolton on the other end of it. He tightened his grip enough to make her sit where Alys was moments ago, and she winced,

 

“Lady Teora, a word.” His mouth in a thin line.

 

“I don’t see how I have much choice, you’d yank my arm off if I refused.”

 

“It has been the downfall of our land to let women have much of a choice in anything.” He let go of her arm, wiping his hand over his trouser leg, which she glanced down to, “Especially Stark women.”

 

Before she could protest he proceeded, leaning closer to her and she inhaled sharply, leaning back, if only to avoid taking in his scent.

 

“It would be wise for her ladyship to remember one thing, and one thing only. Lay another finger on Lady Bolton, and you will wish for a time when you were not in pain. I am your better in every form of combat, so it would not be in your best interest to cross me on this.”

 

Teora gulped, glancing slyly at where her brother sat at the head of the table, and she looked back into Bolton’s pale eyes, nodding her response,

 

“I don’t think I heard an acknowledgment, Lady Teora.”

 

“I acknowledge that you are threatening my life, Lord Bolton.”

 

“Good, best not to skirt the point. Now, have a drink, go sit peacefully with our king.”

 

“I don’t drink.” That earned her a quirk of his brows, and she picked up her skirts, leaving hastily as he was likely to slap her.

 

~~

 

They had not coupled often in the last weeks, the tensions of the war, and their king's recent decisions, overshadowing them. Her lord husband was, as Robb's second in command, often kept in council with the rest of the commanders until the early hours of the morning, returning to the tent for a meagre few hours of sleep before leaving again, if he returned at all. Alysanne was most often left on her own, feeling very small and very alone in the bed.

 

Flickering candlelight danced behind Alysanne’s closed eyelids, and she forced them open with a scowl, the burning pain enough to remind her to, once again, drink a little less, and perhaps retire a bit earlier.

 

It came as a surprise, for her to find him sitting at the table across the tent, reading a letter. Her eyebrows knitted a bit in confusion at the sight of him, and as if drawn by her gaze on him, he looked up, cool grey observing her passively.   


"What are you doing here?" She asked hoarsely and he smirked a little, and she sighed.

  
  
"Not.. what are you doing here, but... I mean that you're never here." She managed, and the little smirk grew.

  
  
"Even a headstrong, impatient King knows his commanders need to rest, on occasion."

  
  
"But you aren't resting." She argued, eyeing the parchment he was still holding.

  
  
"Indeed... I'm sitting down for the first time since last morning. I consider that resting enough."

  
  
"Yesterday morning?! By the gods, I've married a vampire."

  
  
He chuckled at that, setting the parchment aside and rising from the chair.

 

She sat up fully, pulling one of the furs around her shoulders.

 

“Good news?”

 

He nodded, watching her with an unreadable expression, and she held his gaze for a moment. The more pensive he was, the graver the situation, and the weight of his gaze told her there was much he wasn’t saying.

 

“Anything you might share with your lady wife? Your-- quite honestly-- rather bored wife?” She slipped from the bed and padded over, seating herself on his lap with a huff, but didn’t miss the flick of his hand that turned the parchment, ensuring she couldn’t read it.

 

“Are you bored, Alysanne? You seemed to be enjoying yourself, previously. At least at the council meetings.”

 

“There’s only so much I can do in the way of archery and avoiding my mother while the battles rage. You won’t let me fight. And..” She trailed off, looking at him for a moment, her mouth pinched in a slight frown. “Robb’s strategy is taking us in a direction I do not understand.”

 

He spoke not, but the levelness in which he held her gaze implored her to continue; at least in this, they were in agreement.

 

“This matter with Talisa. I understand his motivations in marrying for love, but he is the King in the North. He is in no position to do such a thing. He needs every alliance he can get. This will do nothing but alienate the Freys, whose assistance is paramount. I would not put it past Walder Frey to retaliate. In any way, he needed the alliance for our troops to cross the bridge, which will not happen now. Frey will never allow it after this blatant slap to the face.”

 

He smiled thinly, a sinister expression, but his eyes held no contempt.

 

“They were right about you.”

 

Her eyebrows lifted a little. “My Lord?”

 

“You see much.”

 

She turned her head away. “And yet there is still that which I cannot see. You hide something from me, and I feel it is strongly important.”

 

Pushing herself from his lap, she tossed the fur to the bed and dug through her things to find a clean dress.

 

“Change is coming, my Lady.” He said mildly, his expression unchanged when she looked back at him, half in her gown, the sleeve twisted.

 

“I would not share this with you, even if I could.” He continued, rising from the chair and idly tying the laces of her dress for her. “But I will tell you one thing.”

 

“What is that?” She pulled her hair over her shoulder as she turned to face him, eyes narrowed a bit.

 

“You are right.”

 

Roose left the tent and left her standing there in slight confusion, her brows pinched a little in thought. Turning to blow out the candle, she faltered a moment. He’d left the letter on the desk, the corner peeking out from under a map. A quiet laugh escaped her as she retrieved it; they understood each other better than they thought they did. He couldn’t tell her, he couldn’t give her permission to read the letter, but he couldn’t be held responsible for her curiosity if she read things accidentally left lying around.

 

_Lord Bolton,_

 

_All is ready. It will begin when rain comes from the south, and the young wolf will be brought to heel. As promised, your she-wolf will remain. Ready yourself, my Lord, for red will return to the north at long last._

 

Alysanne’s eyes widened a bit as she read, the note unsigned. The wax seal had been torn off, her gaze flickering to the bit of red wax melted into the white of the candle on the desk.

 

Hastily stuffing the parchment back under the map, she made her way to the Commander’s tent. It was a bustle of activity, things being taken down, as they were preparing to go on the move again. For the next three days, the army would march south, making their way to the river crossing at the Twins-- stronghold of House Frey.

 

~~

 

Teora shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, noticing her sister do the same, though Alysanne was stiff and looked as though she were not trying to be comfortable at all. Their horses nipped at each other playfully, but Alys yanked her reins harder.

 

She was still wary of the creatures, though it was a feat in itself that she even rode for this long. She never used to be afraid, she’d started riding when she was a child, guided by Teora and Robb and Jon, who pulled her along to ride with them as soon as she’d grown tall enough to stay on a horse. But when Alysanne was nine, she’d been riding with Jon, and her horse had spooked and thrown her, breaking both her legs and several ribs, leaving her bedridden for moons on end. Catelyn had been gleeful for the chance to punish Jon for something that hadn’t been his fault, and Alysanne hadn’t ridden, to Teora’s knowledge, ever since.

 

Teora pulled her horse closer, coming alongside Alysanne,

 

“Alys, Alys look at me.”

 

Her sister eyed her, clearly putting all of her concentration on just staying upright on her horse’s back.

 

“You won’t fall, not if we play a game. Would you like that?”

 

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Tia,” She clamped her eyes back on the caravan before them, but added, “What sort of game?”

 

“The kind that makes your back relax a bit. Riddles.”

 

Alys sighed and looked at her sister expectantly.

 

“Ser Brennan was killed at midday. His wife said she was reading. The squire said he was taking a wash. Cook claimed he was making breakfast. The maid said she was folding clothes, and the gardener claimed he was planting beets. Who killed Ser Brennan?”

 

“Really, Teora, that’s easy. The cook, who claimed to be making breakfast.” She twisted her neck slightly to look at Tia incredulously, “Breakfast at midday?”

 

“Very good, that was for practice.” Teora smirked, “Many years ago, a wealthy old man was near death. He wished to leave his fortune to one of his three children. The old man wanted to know that his fortune would be in wise hands. He stipulated that his estate would be left to the child who would sing him half as many songs as days that he had left to live. The eldest son said he couldn't comply because he didn't know how many days his father had left to live, and besides he was far too busy. The youngest son said the same thing. The man ended up leaving his money to his third child, a daughter. What did his daughter do?”

 

Alys hesitated, thinking over the information her sister had given, and shrugged,

“I don’t know, what did the daughter do?”

 

“Oh, come now, it’s simple.”

 

She thought again, a crease between her brows, and grinned,

“Oh, she sang to him every second day!”

 

“Yes, I told you you had it.” Teora pulled her horse back a bit, and Alysanne relaxed in her saddle, if only a little, her mind off of her discomfort for the moment.

 

~~

 

Teora observed the conversations in the commander's tent silently from her perch on a bench against the tent wall, her dark eyes flitting from Robb to Catelyn to Lord Bolton, then back to Robb. There was the crunch of footsteps in the dirt outside before Alysanne ducked into the tent, her sister's pale gaze sweeping the area in disinterest.

  
  
A moment later she sauntered over, sending Teora a sleepy smile before dropping onto the bench next to her.

  
  
"Ooh." Alysanne complained as the bench rocked precariously, shifting around and forcing it to move again. Teora glared at her and Alysanne grinned slyly, taking up a movement that forced the bench to rock back and forth with quiet thumps against the ground.

  
  
"Your Grace, there has been word from the North. House Glover has--" Roose was cut off by a yelp of pain from across the tent, and all eyes were turned to the sisters perched on the bench; Alysanne rubbing the back of her head with a pout, Teora looking immensely pleased with herself.

 

Their attention was drawn away from the sisters as a guard ducked in, his expressions creased with anxiety.

 

"Your grace, there has been-- a wolf, of some sorts, prowling the edge of the camp. It seems injured."

 

Robb's eyes narrowed a bit, glancing aside.

  
  
"Will it let you approach it?"

  
  
"No, your grace. At least, it growls at us when it goes past."

  
  
"We'll go see it. Lord Bolton?"

 

  
  
He went after Robb, noticing Alysanne had slipped over in the meantime, following at his side.

  
  
Reaching the guard post, they found several nervous-looking guards, shifting on their feet at the ready.

  
  
A snarl came from the far of the guard tent, a mane of matted grey and white fur appearing as a wolf slunk out from behind it. The biggest wolf Roose had ever seen.

  
  
The wolf's sad golden eyes were trained on them, a direwolf, it looked--

  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the scream from beside him, and then Alysanne was tearing across the clearing towards the wolf, despite shouts of protest. His heart seemed to skip a beat as she fell to her knees in front of the wolf, her voice just barely audible as she whispered to it. Robb looked shocked, but less at her actions, his disbelief trained on the wolf, not his sister.

  
  
The wolf limped forward a few steps, and all the men stared as it nudged its nose against Alysanne's outstretched hand, then turned its head so she could pet it, and Alysanne broke out in a wide grin, throwing her arms around the wolf.

  
  
Robb was smirking beside him and took his questioning glance.

 

“All the Stark children were given direwolves, years ago. We thought her's dead, it disappeared from Winterfell not long after she left for the Capitol. It must have followed us south.”

 

“All of you have wolves.”

 

“Except Teora, she was already wed and gone from home by that time. Sansa’s was killed. But the rest remain, yes.”

  
  
~~

  
  
"Something ires you."

  
  
Roose's scowl etched deeper into his face, and Anders followed his gaze, a short laugh escaping him. Alysanne was asleep on the floor in the corner of the tent, only half visible in the fur of the direwolf that was curled around her.

  
  
"You're angry about the wolf?"

  
  
"She has a companion now."

  
  
"Surely, that should be a good thing?" He eyed Roose's glare. "Ah. You're mad because you've been replaced."

  
  
"Don't you have something else to be doing?"

  
  
"No."

  
  
"She wants the damn thing to sleep on our bed." He said. "I told her by no means was it doing any such thing. This is her solution."

  
  
Anders sniggered a little but composed himself under Roose's icy glare.

  
  
"No one could fault her creativity." He said mildly, and Roose turned and stormed from the tent.

  
  
Alysanne's head popped up from the mass of fur then, and she looked at Anders, blinking blearily.

  
  
"Huh-- what's going on?"

  
  
"Your husband is in a mood."

  
  
"When is he not?" She muttered, sitting up with a groan and stretching out. The wolf beside her raised its head, setting it down on her lap.

  
  
"You've replaced him."

  
  
"Pardon?" She looked at him in faint surprise.

  
  
"You have your direwolf to keep you company. That used to be his job."

  
  
"Oh." She looked away but smirked a little.

 

~~

 

A gentle breeze lifted the stray strands of hair that framed her face, and she closed her eyes for a moment, a line residing in between her brows.

 

Alys stood like this for a spell, in a vacant field scorched by too many dry spells.

 

The sound of vegetation being crushed under boots made her open her eyes once again, and she sighed, no closer to knowing all she wanted to than she was before. Only pieces making themselves clear to her. But that was how it must be.

 

“What is it, my Lady?”

 

Her gaze remained fixed upwards, the blue of the sky reflecting in her pale eyes.

 

“A storm is brewing in the south.”

 

He stood at her side, eyes narrowed a bit at the cloudless sky, before he understood.

 

“And now, you see all.”

 

“Not quite.” She rubbed the end of her braid between her fingers absently. “The rain is.. a metaphor for change?”

 

His lips twitched upwards for a brief moment.

 

“No. You will understand when you see it.”

 

His gaze held hers for a moment. “Do you understand why?”

 

She pursed her lips.

 

“I can only speculate. I will not ask for confirmation, as I don't want to know.”

 

He smiled thinly.

 

“Good.”


	7. Chapter 7

The doors of her chamber opened, Teora’s dark gaze flickering lazily up to find her sister entering.

“The wedding is to begin in an hour, why aren’t you ready?” Alysanne frowned at her, and Teora was quick to shut her sketchbook with a snap. Alys looked at her with curiosity, taking the sketchbook in her hands, her sister’s skin smeared with charcoal.

“The dress doesn’t sit on my shoulders right…” She complained, waving a hand in the air toward the dress that hung over a chair, still in her shift.

Alysanne gave a long-suffering sigh, seeing through her excuse, but flung open the wardrobe.

“Fine. We’ll find you something else to wear. Don’t even think that you could possibly get away with not attending.” She sorted through the dresses absentmindedly, giving Teora the impression that she was just making a show of it.

“Why would I not attend our uncle’s wedding?”

“Because it is an hour before it’s due to start, and you are sitting on the floor in your smallclothes, covered in charcoal, complaining that your dress doesn’t hang right.” Alysanne finally chose a frock, similar in color to the one she wore, pulling it from the wardrobe and shutting the doors with a louder bang than necessary. “Up. I’ll help you with your hair.”

Tia nodded, rising to her feet, “What would I ever do without you, Alys?”

Alysanne gave her a smile, but something flickered in her eyes as she handed her the dress, turning to the vanity to search for a comb and some hairpins.

Tia caught it, following her younger sister and standing close to her back, but didn’t speak, instead smiling and taking the seat she was offered. She held worry in her eyes, but the smile reached them nonetheless,

“The last wedding I attended was my own, and I think that was the last day we did not quarrel. Do you remember that day?”

Alys’s smile was genuine then as her gaze met hers through the looking glass, the comb tugging a bit as she pulled it through Teora’s long hair,

“Of course I do. I seem to remember I cried for three days prior and begged Father not to send you away. I thought you were being punished for something by leaving.”

Tia looked up at her in the mirror, alarm in her widened eyes, “I remember how stricken you were...”

“Yes, of course. I was twelve at the time and didn’t know any better.” The comb paused and Alys looked at her again. “But were you? Punished, I mean.. We never knew anything about the Hornwoods, your husband least of all.” 

Tia looked down, playing with the hairpins spread before her. “No, I was not punished. Daryn could not have been more gentle or kind towards me.” She looked up again, her brown eyes welling with sincere tears, “I cared for him very much, as you know.”

Alys’s eyes widened slightly and her hands squeezed Teora’s shoulders gently, but she didn’t speak, after a moment returning her attention to Tia’s hair, beginning to pin it up.

Teora sniffed, and smiled, “This is beautiful, thank you, dear one. We match, don’t we?”

Alys paused at the sound of her old nickname, which she hadn’t heard Teora call her in years. She pushed the last pins into Teora’s hair, loosening a few pieces to frame her face. “People always did think we were twins, you know.” She gave her a wry smirk, but it only lasted a moment, before she turned away.

The smile left Tia’s face when her sister’s back was turned toward her, and she rose from the chair, but remained silent. Something was on Alyanne’s mind, but she had a feeling it was best not to question it, for once.

Alysanne returned with a damp rag, wiping away the smudges of charcoal from Tia’s face and hands. “Best not to smudge your dress.” She said quietly.

“No, best not.” She let her sister continue her pampering, thinking aloud, “I bet you twenty coppers that uncle will be surprised at his bride, I hear she is one of the more beautiful of the Frey daughters.”

Alysanne laughed. “A Frey daughter, beautiful? I’ll take that bet. They’re all hideous, you know that.”

Tia stifled a laugh, “That is unkind… though true. No, I am sure she is at least passable.”

“What does Walder Frey care? A marriage is a marriage, no matter what she looks like. Honestly, you should have heard about my husband’s last wife... She was a Frey daughter, though big enough to count as two!”

Teora poked at Alys’s side playfully, “Now that _is_ unkind! However, I must say as Daryn’s only wife I have no judgments to pass.”

“As my Lord husband’s _fourth_ wife, all I can say is ‘lucky you’.” Alys tried to keep her voice light, but couldn’t conceal the bit of annoyance that dripped from her words. 

Tia’s face drained of the smile, clearing her throat, but she said nothing.

Alysanne complained, both of them startled at the knock on the chamber door. “We’ll be late, come. Hurry.”

 

~~

 

The music was lively as Teora looked around the great hall. Already people were feasting and drinking, and Uncle Edmure seemed quite satisfied with his new bride, whispering freely into her ear up at the head table.

Alysanne dropped into the chair between Teora and Roose with a sigh, pushing a few coins across the table towards her sister.

“Fine, you win.”

Teora took the coins smugly, dropping them into her pocket, “Thank you very much, Lady Bolton.”

Alysanne rolled her eyes, turning to Roose, who’d been watching the exchange impassively, and leaned over to speak quietly with him. Catelyn sat across the table from them, idly tapping her fingertips on the rim of her goblet, her gaze trained on Edmure and Roslin across the room.

A serving girl approached with a pitcher of wine to refill goblets, but was stopped as Roose laid a hand over his.

“Don’t you drink, Lord Bolton?” Catelyn asked in surprise, and he smiled dryly, noticing Teora too rejected the beverage.

“Never do, my lady. Dulls the senses.”

Teora cleared her throat, unnoticed by all but her sister, and she raised her brow, Alys rolling her eyes. Tia smirked but it was wiped from her face when she saw her mother, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“That’s the point.” Uncle Brynden commented with a smirk, raising his goblet a bit towards him. “Didn’t you marry one of these Frey girls?”

“Aye. Lord Walder let me choose from any of his granddaughters, and promised me the girl’s weight in silver as a dowry. So I had a fat young bride.”

Teora raised a brow again, though not in jest, looking to her sister, and gauged the reaction elicited.=

“I hope she made you very happy.” Catelyn commented, ignoring the look of angry disbelief that Alysanne sent her, and Roose smirked faintly. “She made me very rich.”

Alysanne set her goblet down with a clank, side-eyeing Roose in annoyance.

“I’m sorry to be such a poor replacement.” She muttered, earning a reproachful look from Roose and a frown from Catelyn.

“Pardon, my Lord, my Ladies.. I need to find a tree to piss on.” Uncle Brynden pushed back his chair with a scrape, sauntering off, and Teora’s gaze flickered back to Alys, who was sitting silently while Roose spoke quietly to her, a scowl pinching her sister’s expression. She got the feeling Alys would be paying for that jab later. 

“Your Grace!” Lord Walder spoke suddenly over the noise of the crowd, settling everyone. “The Septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said, and Lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak. But. They are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath,” He paused to lead the crowd in raucous laughter, “and the wedding needs a bedding!”

The members of their table looked on in constricted disgust, Teora holding back from rolling her eyes at the vulgarity that was so a part of Frey’s character.

“If you think the time is right, Lord Walder, then by all means. Let us bed them.” Robb spoke up with a wide smirk, and the look of disgust on Teora’s face grew, bringing a memory of her own bedding ceremony.

Cheers arose from the crowd and there was a flurry of noise and activity to pull Edmure and Roslin off to their new bedchamber, but they stayed where they were, watching passively.

“Poor girl.” Catelyn said with a sigh. 

“Every bride suffers the same.” Roose commented with a shrug, and Alys choked a bit, hiding her mouth behind her goblet, but her eyes met Teora’s, crinkled with amusement, though her sister did not return the good humor.

“I’m sure you endured yours with grace.” He added, ignoring Alys’s little outburst, but didn’t bother to hide the tiny smirk playing the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, Ned forbade it.” Catelyn looked surprised. “He said it wouldn’t be right if he broke a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” 

After the bedding crowd had left the hall and the noise died back to normal, those who remained returning to their meals and conversations, a few guards strolled through the room, one pulling the doors of the hall closed. Teora looked up at the noise, her eyes narrowing faintly, but a look at Alys showed she was unconcerned, talking with Catelyn.

 

The musicians ended their lively song, beginning a slower one, one that was familiar, and Alys looked up at that, her gaze fixing on the musicians in the balcony for a moment. Her gaze held a look of stark realization, before she turned to Roose, the look gone as quickly as it had come.

Teora had been looking down at her hands in her lap, thinking over the entrance of the guards, the closing of the doors, and her eyes slowly rose up toward the musicians. There was alarm in them, and they flicked to her mother slyly, careful not to draw attention to herself.

“Your Grace!” Lord Walder spoke up again, and Robb sauntered forwards, those that had been milling around returning to their seats.

“I feel as though I’ve been.. Remiss, in my duties. I’ve given you meat, wine, and music, but, I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married, and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift.”

While he spoke, Alysanne glanced sideways at her, reaching under the table, and her sister’s fingers curled suddenly around Teora’s wrist, pressing tightly into the bone.

Teora stiffened, daring a glance to her sister again, and her eyes began to water from the force with which Alys squeezed her wrist.

Her gaze lingered on a silent conversation passing between Catelyn and Lord Bolton. His hand was resting on the table, and he gave Catelyn a pointed look towards it. Reaching out hesitantly, she flipped his sleeve back, and Teora’s eyes widened in shock at the glint of chain mail beneath it. Catelyn stood suddenly, slapping Lord Bolton across the face, and turned to Robb.

“Robb, run!”

Her warning came too late, and chaos erupted in the room, the musicians revealing crossbows and firing into the crowd, several finding Robb. A man pulled a dagger and attacked Talisa with it, mutilating her stomach as the girl screamed. The Frey men revealed to be assassins attacked the Stark bannermen, slitting throats with sprays of blood. 

The massacre before her happened in a blink, but it was agonizing to Teora’s eyes, the bath of red and sudden metallic stench rising, and her face was soaked in tears she couldn’t control.  

Alysanne used her grasp on Teora’s wrist to drag her down to the floor, snapping her elder sister from her trance, and her hand on Teora’s back pushed her under the table. Nearly being shot in the head by an arrow that found its home in a man close behind her, Teora watched in horror as blood splattered the stone floor. Her brother’s blood.

Alysanne had gone, and Teora looked around wildly, until hands grasped her arms suddenly. She pulled the hidden blade from her sleeve and turned to find it was Alysanne, back again, her sister’s eyes wild as she dragged Teora to her feet.

Alysanne held a dagger loosely, grasping Teora’s hand and dragging her off, pulling her towards the far wall, and away from the carnage. They darted around dead and dying men, bodies crumpled in heaps, and Alysanne pushed her against the stone wall, her hand hovering over the knob of the door beside them, but she turned back to watch.

Robb was struggling to his feet, somehow having survived the arrows imbedded in his chest and back, and turned towards a sobbing Catelyn, their mother on her knees, a few arrows protruding from her own flesh.

“Mother..” He slurred, and there was the rustle of leather as Roose Bolton appeared before him, his words soft but carrying through the otherwise quiet hall,

“The Lannisters send their regards..”

His knife was buried to the hilt in Robb’s chest, and Robb slipped to the ground. 

“No!” Teora screamed, a long terrible sound, though only Alys heard the cry above the uproar, tears welling in her own eyes at her sister’s passion. Roose stalked away, wiping the blade on his thigh.

Teora gasped, a hand to her mouth, tears coming to her eyes afresh, along with a new, fiery vengeance as she watched Roose. She stepped forward, making an attempt to run to Robb but Alysanne grasped her arm in yet another strong grip, opening the door into the side corridor and shoving Teora through and slamming it behind them, her fingers scrambling for the lock.

Teora began to protest, but Alysanne didn’t stop, snatching her hand again and pulling her off down the corridor, opening the door to an unfamiliar chamber, but as her sister bolted the door, she realised it must be hers and Lord Bolton’s.

Teora still clutched the dagger in her hand, her knuckles white, and she acted unexpectedly. Holding her palm out, she sliced it swiftly, gasping, and Alys sprung on her, knocking the dripping weapon from her hand.

Kicking the blade swiftly away, Alys tore a strip from her dress, wrapping it around her sister’s hand and tying it down. Teora squeezed her hand into a fist, seeming to test the bandage, and swung her other arm around, slapping Alys, sending her back a few steps before she raised an arm to block the next slap, 

“You knew. Alysanne, you knew!” Her voice cracked and she put the back of her palm up to her mouth, “This dress, our hair, everything. You ensured we matched-- and you knew what was to happen. You had your hand on my arm, ready to go under the table long before the deaths started.”

Alysanne’s pale eyes were icy as she snatched Teora’s arms and shoved her backwards, her back connecting painfully with the wall.

“I didn’t know, Tia, I suspected. Do you _really_ think he’d tell me he was going to kill my own brother and then expect me to sit there passively during that whole thing? I didn’t know they’d kill Talisa, and I didn’t know they’d go after mother, either. But I didn’t say anything, it was for your own protection. If you said anything and gave it away, they’d kill you too. Do you know why I had my hand on your arm? My husband leaned over and told me to get under the table when it started. ‘It’. That is all he said. I did not know what it meant. My first thought was to protect you with me. Yes, that is why I dressed us identical. I was safe, the wife of Lord Bolton. I tried to protect you.”

“Would you not sacrifice everything, even yourself for family?”

“Robb was already dead, it was plain to see. There was nothing you could do to help him. If I had let you go to him, you would have gained nothing, and lost everything, as you would have met the same fate. Would you prefer I had let you die tonight?”

Teora was crying, pressing a thumb on the wound on her palm, and before she said a word the sound that filled the space made them look each other in the eye sorrowfully. A wail and slow fading of cries, going on for what seemed the longest moment, ending in utter silence.

They sat there together silently, sometimes with quiet tears, processing what had just occurred.  

 

~~

 

It was the early hours of the morning by the time their silence was broken in the form of footsteps in the hall, and Alysanne was on her feet in a flash, going to speak quietly through the door before unbolting it.

Teora hardly heard, but her gaze fixed on the man that entered, covered in dried blood, and a look of disgusted anger twisted her features as Alysanne kissed him like they’d been parted for years, coming away smudged with red.

Teora reached for the dagger that had been kicked away earlier, which was under the bed where she sat next to it on the floor. It flashed through the air, and Roose tilted his head to the side, leaving the knife lodged in the door behind him. He sent her a look of cool annoyance, and she squeezed her bloodied fist again, rising to her feet in defiance.

“May the Gods set a curse on you, Roose Bolton.” Her voice was steady, and she tried to act brave, but the new stream of tears betrayed her. She looked at her sister levely then, “Wipe your face, Alysanne. Lest our brother’s blood stain you.”

Alysanne scowled at her but swiped her sleeve over her chin, cleaning away the smudge of blood.

Teora unwound the bandage that was wrapped over her hand, and clenched her fist, drawing fresh droplets of blood, and she advanced toward Alysanne. Roose watched her, a hand on the hilt of his sword, and she stopped before her sister,

“Here,” She laid a bloody hand on the shoulder of Alys’s dress, wiping it down to the elbow, and Alys blinked rapidly, biting her bottom lip until she tasted metal, “Don’t forget my blood. It contains our mother’s blood. And our father’s blood. And our brothers’ and sisters’.”

She stepped away, throwing the red stained strip of cloth at Roose, “Do what you will.”

Alysanne was looking at her, torn between fury, disgust, and sadness, but she bit the inside of her cheek and looked to her husband, who was dangling the bandage idly from his fingers. He looked down at her, eyebrows pinching a bit as he brought his hand up to touch her cheek, brushing over the mark Teora had left.

“Did she hit you?” He asked quietly, his pale gaze darting to Teora, and Alysanne didn’t reply, but he didn’t need her to. He dropped his hand, advancing a few steps towards Teora as he tossed the bandage carelessly to the ground.

“You struck her, after she saved your life.” His voice was cool, not yet malicious, but his eyes were glinting as he gazed down at Teora. 

She looked up at him, and her gaze slid down to the hand he kept casually on the hilt of his sword, “Yes, I did. And-”

He struck her hard, sending her crashing against the cold floor, and she saw black, the metallic, burning taste of bile rising in her throat.

A clatter of coins sounded against the floor, and Alys realized it had been the coppers Teora had won from their bet.

Teora rolled unsteadily onto her stomach, crawling towards the end of the bed, and Alysanne advanced, knowing what Roose would do, but stopped short.

Roose set a heavy foot on Teora’s back, and she was trapped. He leaned his weight farther over her and there was a popping, following by Teora’s chilling cry.

“Roose.” Alysanne’s voice was cold and he looked at her for a moment, but stepped away from Teora with a look of disgust. 

“I did warn you, Lady Stark.” His words were soft, but laced with poison. “I do not take kindly to those who would raise a hand to my wife, kin or not.”

Teora spit the blood from her mouth, barely missing his boot, “I am not kin anymore.”

Alysanne inhaled sharply behind her.

“Tia, you don’t mean that.” She said softly, the hurt plain in her voice.

Teora’s face was obstructed from view, and she looked like she was trying to rise to her knees, with great effort, “Ask me again when I can face you.”

The door was opened and footsteps entered the room.

“Take Lady Stark to the next-door chamber, post two men outside. Ensure she is not disturbed.” Alysanne spoke quietly, and hands were helping Teora up a moment later.

She wailed, her legs dragging against the floor limply as she was ushered from the room, and Alys gasped again. Her elder sister looked at her as they passed, and Alys saw fear, rather than anger, as she had expected.

 

~~

 

Teora laid motionless, but every inch of her tingled, a prickling pain sweeping through her. She had to blink rapidly to send away the dots that danced across her vision constantly. She welcomed the spinning in her head, it was beauty compared to the recurring flashes of mutilated flesh that she saw. Her brother grappling and clutching onto his last breaths and Talisa, her abdomen cut open brutally. Catelyn Tully, the woman whom she called “mother”. She was relentless, unforgiving in her protection over her family. Going as far to shun her own daughter. And yet, she did not deserve such an end.

Teora raised her hand unsteadily, the palm still dripping blood in a slow trickle down her forearm. Teora would see their faces every time she looked at the scar. But would she be killed before a scar even formed? She almost hoped she would. 

She dropped her arm, and tears rolled over her cheeks and into her ears, and she gripped onto the knit blanket beneath her. Her spine buckled, and she cried out in agony, the force flipping her onto her side. Her legs felt painfully numb, pinpricks of shooting pain throughout her joints. Bolton could have crushed her spine completely, but he chose not to, just so that she would feel the torture of stabbing pain with every movement.

Teora buried her face in the scratchy blanket, letting out a muffled scream, and her tears soaked the fabric. She knew that at that moment her sister would be spending the night in the arms of the monster who had aided in the massacre their family, selling them to the Freys and the Lannisters. Teora screamed again, louder, until her throat burned, and her spine buckled again, dislocated beyond her own repair.

The door swung open, crashing against the wall, but Roose entered as calm as can be, huffing slightly as he stood at the end of the bed. Teora watched him through the blur of her tears, half of her face still buried in the blanket.

“You can scream until you lose your voice, it makes no difference to me,” He said quietly, looking at her in mild irritation, “But the rest of the Keep may feel differently. You’re depriving tired soldiers of their sleep. Shut your mouth, woman.”

There was quiet conversation in the doorway, and Alysanne appeared beside Roose a moment later.

“I’ve sent for their Maester.” She said softly, folding her arms, and Roose sent her a look, his lips pursing thinly, but he didn’t speak.

There was a jangling of chains, and an old man entered the room.

“Tia, this is Maester Renald.”

She swallowed, gasping for breath, “Has he washed his hands lately?” She coughed, blood and saliva making a sticky stain under her cheek. “This is my best dress.”

“Tia..” Alys spoke in a warning tone, stepping back to allow the old man around the side of the bed to peer down at Teora.

Hands prodded her back, she could tell the Maester was doing his best to be gentle, but she still couldn’t repress a wail of pain through gritted teeth.

“Dislocated.” He said finally. “It will have to be pushed back into place.”

She gulped for breath again, her lungs burning, “Can’t we just snap it in half instead?”

“I’m afraid not, Lady Stark.” 

“Hold her down..” Alysanne moved forwards and grasped her shoulders, a vicious glare towards Roose making him step forward to reluctantly hold her legs in a painfully tight grasp.

Teora focused on that, her legs gaining a little sensation again, and how his hands felt hot like a branding iron. She wanted them off her. 

The Maester’s hand grasped her waist, the other pressing to her upper back, and before she could protest, jerked harshly, a pop sounding as the vertebrae were affixed back into place.

Teora's loud protests were muffled as the door shut behind Alysanne and Roose as he pulled her from the room, leaving Tia with the Maester.

Alysanne remained, gazing up at Roose rather apprehensively, and she straightened her back, unwilling to comment on the events of the night, now that there was calm. Why did she always have to be the strong one? Teora was broken, but not once did her older sister stop to realize that it'd been her brother and mother as well. If anything, she'd been closer to Robb, having had longer with him, after Tia was married.   
  
Roose brought a hand up again to touch her cheek, but she winced, a bruise already forming over her skin.   
  
He dropped his hand, shaking his head faintly as he looked down at his stained clothing, then to her, finding she was spattered with blood, as well.   
  
"I think we could both do with a wash.." He said quietly. "Find a new gown, we'll make use of Frey's baths." 

She sniffled as she sorted through the wardrobe, swiping quickly at her eyes, and pulled out a plain white shift, shuffling over to him with a bowed head. He didn't move for a moment, then reached out and took her hand in his, his skin calloused against hers, and she let her eyes slide closed. She needed his quiet strength, and he conveyed it with a simple gesture. She was safe. He would take care of her.   
  
She followed him down to the baths, still holding onto his hand, and felt a bit more awake once engulfed in the heat and steam of the room, the pools sending up hazy clouds of mist.   
  
He slipped his hand from hers, reaching to remove her stained dress, and she wandered over, sitting on the edge of a pool and dipping her toes into the hot water. 

She was lucky, then, extremely lucky, in both her position and in Robb’s choice in wedding her to Lord Bolton. If she'd married another, she would be just as dead and bloody on the floor of the great hall as the rest of her family. Tia would be too, were it not for the fortunate tendency of the two to be mistaken for one another. Though, without Alys’s help, she could still be cowering under the table. 

He joined her a moment later, dressed still in trousers and his loose shirt, and she glanced sideways at him.   
  
He gazed back at her for a moment, then pulled at the tie of the shirt, tugging it over his head and depositing it lazily away. She stared at him openly then, realizing she'd never seen him without a shirt. He never stripped down, even when they were together, something she found odd.   
  
Drawing her gaze away, she pushed forward and lowered herself carefully into the pool, sitting on the stone bench carved into the wall of the pool.   
  
His presence disappeared for a moment, then he slipped into the water beside her, having stripped down entirely.   
  
She let her gaze flicker back to him, as he stood in the middle of the pool, absently running a wet hand over the nape of his neck, checking for dried blood.   
  
Standing, she moved towards him, bringing her hand up to rub at the spot he'd missed, her lips dropping to his bare shoulder as she did, and he turned slightly, moving her back against the wall of the pool and trapping her there with his arms as his mouth found hers. He wasn't rough, just insistent, and she sighed between kisses, bringing her arms up around his shoulders.   
  
"I figured you'd be trying to kill me right about now." He said quietly, drawing away a bit and appraising her mildly.   
  
"Do you take me for a fool, my Lord?" She asked softly. "I'm not stupid enough to try to kill you, even if I wanted to. I don't understand why you did what you did, and I don't expect to. But anger will not fix anything. It's war. I love Robb and though I despise that you killed my brother, I knew he'd end up dead sooner or later. An occupational hazard, of those who'd be king.."   
  
"Insightful.." He nodded his head slightly to her. "And I don't expect you to understand. I will offer to discuss my motivations, though I doubt you'd actually care to. I will not blame your anger towards me."   
  
Her gaze dropped from his face, her hand coming up to trail her fingertips in wet patterns over his forearm.   
  
"My Lord.. We will have many times to discuss this. But please.. Not tonight. Allow me my own time to grieve, before embroiling me in house politics and war discussions."   
  
He nodded to her again, turning and sitting on the bench beside her as she stared silently into the steaming water, as if hoping to find answers in the shimmering surface.   
  
Turning suddenly, she moved and settled herself in his lap facing him, his hands coming up and grasping her hips leisurely.   
  
Her forehead settled in the crook of his shoulder as she let her arms fall, her hands resting softly on his waist. Despite everything that had just happened, she needed his closeness. Now especially- he was all she had left.   
  
How quickly things changed. That morning, they'd been a happy family. Tonight, she was without a mother, her last brother gone, and the only sister that was still within reach now hated her with a passion. How paradoxical, that she would be taking comfort in the arms of their murderer.   
  
His hands slipped softly over her skin, and she marveled at how gentle he was being. The hands that brutally flayed the skin of his enemies, that had driven a dagger deep into Robb's chest, that carried a sword and easily took lives on the battlefield, had discovered a newfound tenderness when he touched her. She figured he could sense that she needed it, in that moment.   
  
She moved a bit, pressing her lips softly to his throat, and heard him inhale sharply, but he didn't move, allowing her to do what she liked. He'd tensed, though, and she knew he was holding back, at great personal strain. How long would he last, before he snapped?   
  
She squirmed around a bit, under the guise of shifting position, and he tensed even further, but rested his arms on the edge of the pool, keeping his hands off of her.   
  
She pulled her head back to look at him, steel grey meeting steel grey, and she sent him a curious look.   
  
"What?"   
  
"You're holding back."   
  
He snorted. "When am I not? I don't want to hurt you, Alysanne."   
  
"You're not going to hurt me." She said quietly, and he sent her a faintly stricken glance.   
  
"I already have.."   
  
She bent to kiss him but he turned his head away, and she glared at him, hand on his jaw forcing him to look at her.   
  
"What's the matter with you?" She demanded, and he frowned.   
  
"After tonight, I'm in need of a leeching. My blood is riding too high, Alysanne." He pushed her off his lap and she splashed back in the water, losing her balance, and came up spluttering, glaring fiercely at him. His gaze had darkened significantly.   
  
"Unfortunately, we have no leeches, so you will have to find another outlet."   
  
His eyes flashed, but he shook his head, pulling himself from the pool and finding his clothes.   
  
"Finish up here, and get to bed. It's late." He said tiredly, and she pushed herself up out of the water, folding her arms.   
  
"You're going to avoid me, now?"   
  
"It's been a trying day, Alysanne.." He started and she scowled.   
  
"Honestly, Roose.."   
  
She grasped his arm but he turned sharply and threw her off him, leaving her looking up at him with wide eyes, carefully withdrawing her hand.   
  
"Alysanne, I mean it." He said softly, but his words were thin and clipped. "Walk away."   
  
"And if I don't?"   
  
He set his jaw. "Neither of us will enjoy what I will do to you."   
  
For the first time, she held a bit of fear as she looked up at him, but he pushed a thick linen into her hands, then turned away.   
  
She dried off and pulled the clean gown over her head, padding barefoot back to their chamber as she dried her hair absently. Pushing open the door, she found it dark, and she navigated the room by the thin strip of moonlight in the window, tossing the cloth over the back of the chair and climbing onto the bed, pawing at the furs. Settling down, she pressed her lips tightly, upset. She understood, of course, but it didn't mean she had to like it. She needed her husband's comfort, now more than ever, and he was pushing her away.   
  
She sniffled quietly, pulling the furs up further over her, and was startled as she felt him move beside her, pulling her body against him. His arms wrapped loosely around her, and his nose nuzzled against the juncture of her throat, his breathing soon slow and even in sleep. A tear trickled down her cheek, unwilling to close her eyes, seeing Robb’s vacant gaze staring back at her, his face spattered with blood. She was safe with Roose, she repeated over and over. He would protect her.

Would he? He claimed he would. But he’d also driven a dagger into the heart of his King, the man he’d sworn to serve. Just like the Lannister, like the Kingslayer. 

Raising a hand, she swiped at her cheek, brushing away the tear that fell. She loved her stubborn, enigmatic husband, but in that moment, she finally understood Teora’s warning, her words about fearing him. His reputation certainly preceded him, indeed she’d grown up hearing the terrifying stories of his house, but he had never given her a reason to distrust him, never a reason to be frightened. Never had he raised a hand to her, or been cruel. But in that moment, she'd never been more terrified of him.

~~  
  
When light filtering into the room woke her, she found herself alone in the bed, but the furs had been pulled over her and tucked in around her. Pushing them back, she slid from the bed, pulling the nightdress over her head and depositing it lazily away as she found a clean gown, this one a pretty royal blue, and she affixed the pin he'd given her to the breast, the iron shape of a flayed man. She brushed out her hair before peeking out the door to find a guard posted there.   
  
"Lady Bolton, good morning. Lord Bolton requests you join him in the great hall."   
  
She nodded to him with a small smile, going down the corridor, the Keep uncharacteristically silent.   
  
Entering the great hall, she found her husband there, speaking with Walder Frey. Several servants were about the room, scrubbing the bloodstains from the floor, and she closed her eyes for a moment, thankful beyond belief that the bodies had already been taken away.

  


When the noon meal was served, the mood was just as light as the wedding the evening prior, to Alysanne’s distress. Roose was silent, as usual, but the tables were significantly smaller, entirely Frey men now, save for Anders. Roose’s Captain of the guard was the only one paying her the slightest attention, but was mostly in quiet council with her husband for much of the meal.

A serving girl appeared to refill their goblets and clear away plates, and Alysanne glanced up at her as the girl poured wine into her cup, over filling it and splashing a good amount across the table. 

“Apologies, my lady.” The girl said, not sounding very sorry at all, and Alysanne glared at her as she started to turn away, reaching for Anders’s goblet.

“Well, clean it up.” She snapped, rising from her chair to avoid the pool of liquid that threatened the edge of the table over her lap.

The girl scowled but mopped it up with her apron, turning to Roose, who placed a hand over the cup when she tried to take it.

“Don’t you drink, my Lord?” The girl asked in surprise, and Alysanne looked at her in disbelief.

“I don’t believe it’s your place to question a Lord’s actions.” She snapped, and the girl sent her a frown. Roose’s hand settled on her thigh under the table, fingers pressing lightly into her leg.

“No, I do not.” He answered the girl plainly, who looked smug at his response to her.

“A fair choice, my Lord. Wine dulls the senses. And effects.. Other aspects.”

Alysanne choked a little, setting her goblet down with a clank. Would a serving girl be so bold as to flirt with a Lord, right in front of his wife?

Roose ignored the comment and Anders sent the girl off with a frown, his gaze darting to Alysanne.

“Excuse me for a moment, my Lord.” Alysanne muttered lowly, pushing back her chair and watching the girl scurry off through a side door before pursuing at a distance.

The doorway led to a narrow hall outside the kitchens, and the heels of her shoes tapped noisily on the stones as she marched down the hall.

“You shouldn’t be back here..”

There was the annoying voice again. She fingered the handle of the dagger in the pocket of her dress as she turned, the girl standing behind her.

“You have a lot of gall for a servant. What’s your name?” Alysanne said, tone quietly threatening.

“Riya.”

She sneered at the girl. “Awfully bold of you, flirting with a Lord with his wife right beside him. Have you no shame, _Riya_?”

The girl smirked at her. "Lords cheat on their wives all the time. You aren't special. He's a man, just like all the rest."

Alysanne’s eyebrows lifted a little. "That's quite the attitude for a girl who's going to die tonight.." 

“You’d threaten me for harmless words? I said nothing out of turn. You aren’t thinking straight, after all your mother and precious King did just die..”

Alysanne paled, glaring at the girl. How such a flippant comment hurt. “Do you think it wise to antagonise a grief-stricken woman?” Her voice shook a little. How dare this ignorant little brat speak ill of her family, ill of the dead? 

“I antagonise you not.”

Alysanne looked at her for a moment with a scowl. “You think me weak, don’t you. A Lord’s daughter that could do no harm with anything but perhaps a sewing needle. I assure you, I am capable of things you could only dream of in your darkest night terrors. So run, little girl. Run away, and _maybe_ you will live to see the sun rise tomorrow.”

The girl held fear in her eyes now, though she tried to remain indifferent.   
  
“If you kill me, they will know it was you.”

Alysanne smirked at her as she pulled her little dagger from its sheath.

“What reason would I have to kill you? You’re a lowly servant, not worth my time. Go now. If I look at you for much longer I might be driven to carve that stupid smirk off your face. Don’t tempt me.”

The girl’s expression dropped, truly afraid now, and she turned heel and sprinted away, Alysanne sauntering after her.

The hall ended in a small courtyard, the archway to the outside leading to a sloping hill, covered in the same scratchy, dry grass that seemed to cover everything in this wretched country. The girl was hovering near the arch, unsure where to go now. Taking the hill would lead her right into the middle of the northmen’s camp, staying in the courtyard would put her right in Alysanne’s grasp.

Snatching the girl by her dirty apron, Alysanne dragged her out to the top of the hill, a harsh shove tripping her and sending her sprawling on her back.

“ _Please_ , my Lady--”

“Oh, so _now_ I’m your Lady? You certainly didn’t seem to think as such before.” Alysanne shoved her skirts back and knelt beside her. “Ah, but you try to appeal to my mercy. I have no sympathy for those who mock me, who dare behave in such a way before my husband, or who speak ill of her family, whom your precious employers _slaughtered_ last night.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Perhaps not, but you feel no sympathy, only pride, _joy_ , even, in the continuing extinction of Starks. You represent my revenge, where I cannot take it against those who truly perpetrated this crime.”

The point of the knife opened a parchment-thin cut over the base of the girl’s throat.

“Haven’t you heard the stories of the Starks of the North?” Her voice was near a whisper as she dug the point into the hollow between her collarbones. “They tell many stories. Most of them true.”

Drawing the knife back, Alysanne sent a humourless smirk to the shaking girl, observing the fear in her brown eyes.

“May the Gods have mercy on your soul, Riya. Because I certainly won’t.”  


  
Alysanne pulled the little dagger free with a squelching noise, and sat back on her heels for a moment, looking at the mess. Wiping the blade clean on her skirt, she pocketed it, her pale gaze still fixed on bloodied, still features. Her hands were shaking a little, still hearing the girl’s words in her head. She hadn’t meant to really kill her.. But she’d gone too far, pushed her too much. She couldn’t tell anyone what had happened, she’d have to come up with a lie. They’d think her mad if they knew the truth.

  
  
"What happened to you?"   
  
Roose looked her over, unimpressed, as she peeled the bloody dress off.   
  
"I was helping with the wounded."   
  
She was safe, none would suspect her, as she truly had been helping the surgeons, and they would say so if asked, not that they would be. An unimportant serving girl? They'd likely think she was killed by the Freys if naught else.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Why not?" She countered. "I was bored. I asked about the medicines they use and ended up helping them while they explained the different applications."   
  
She'd bathed and changed before there was a commotion outside, a guard calling for them, and they were ushered to the Great Hall, where they found Anders, speaking quietly with two guards.   
  
"What is it?"   
  
"A girl was found dead, just outside the kitchens. A serving girl, by the look of her dress, but her face and body so badly mutilated none could say who she was."   
  
"A wild animal?"   
  
"She bears marks of a dagger."   
  
Roose looked faintly amused at that. "A trick by the Freys, no doubt, or perhaps even a Lannister spy. To cause dissent amongst us."   
  


~~  
  
  
Roose looked at her quietly as she sat on the edge of the bed, his thumbs hooked in his belt. She avoided his gaze, praying to every god she could think of that he wouldn't speak. Her stomach turned at the thought of what might happen should it be discovered that it was her.   
  
Her husband knew her too well. He knew she was hiding something, and she had the suspicion he'd known since the moment Anders said a serving girl was dead. Perhaps known what she'd do even before it happened.   
  
"You act the innocent, but you know more than you admit."   
  
Alysanne looked at him with slightly widened eyes.   
  
"I don't know what you mean."   
  
"The dead girl is the one who was serving us at the Twins. The one who angered you."   
  
"None could say. She was so badly mutilated.."   
  
"You killed her, Alysanne."   
  
"She was a serving girl. Why would I possibly have cared about her existence enough to bother killing her?"   
  
Roose smirked slowly.   
  
"Because she made you jealous."   
  
"Do you think me so shallow as to be provoked by a lowly servant?"   
  
She folded her arms and turned away so he wouldn't see the truth in her eyes, that she was exactly that.   
  
"Alysanne, look at me."   
  
His hands sank into her hair and tugged gently, imploring her to turn her gaze to him.   
  
"I would put a dagger in Joffrey himself if it meant keeping you safe. I would kill any that dared touch you without a thought, you know I would. I'm a man, and like all men, I am prone to jealousy. Do you think I would reproach you for doing the same?"   
  
She leaned a little into his hand, knowing this was as close to a declaration of love she would ever get from her husband.   
  
"But you must tell me now, Alysanne. This could cause discord with the Freys."   
  
"I don't care." She replied quietly. "Tell the Freys what you must."   
  
"You killed her?"   
  
"I killed her."   
  
He kissed her then, dominating her mouth with ease.   
  
"Do you remember the vow?"   
  
"The vow?" She looked at him blankly, and the corners of his mouth turned up a little.   
  
"Our marriage vow."   
  
"Oh." She paused. "I remember it was of the faith of the seven, which was odd."   
  
"Alysanne.." He shook his head with a small smile. "She is mine.. and I am hers. Like you belong to me, I belong to you. I am your husband as much as you are my wife. I will never reproach you for your devotion, Alysanne. Never."   
  
"But I killed her. I damned near cut her heart out."   
  
He smiled thinly at that.   
  
"Do you remember that young soldier that drunkenly tried to kiss you? His dirty hands at your skirts?"   
  
"Of course I remember him." Alysanne said bitterly. "Robb was angry, but the fool was a friend of his so nothing ever came of it. He died in the Whispering Wood, didn't he?"   
  
Roose snorted. "No."   
  
Alysanne's lips turned in a small smile of understanding then.   
  
"Friend of the king or not, he laid his hands on my wife. Would you like to know what I did to him?"   
  
"Do tell."   
  
Roose reached down, extracting his dagger from the sheath on his belt.   
  
"See how thin the blade is? Sharpened to a razor's edge and small enough to fit between the bottom layer of skin and the tissue beneath. I flayed the skin from his body while he screamed for his life. He lasted just over six minutes before the pain ended him."   
  
Alysanne took the dagger, scraping her thumb over the edge of the blade to test the sharpness. He took her chin in hand, turning her to look at him.   
  
"I love you." She said suddenly, seemingly surprising them both with the admission, but he leaned down to kiss her forehead.   
  
"I know."  


~~

 

"Lord Bolton."  
  
"Lord Frey?"   
  
Roose looked at Walder Frey with passive disinterest, the old man looking angrily befuddled.   
  
"A girl was killed here, yesterday. A serving girlie of mine."   
  
"I heard, my Lord."   
  
"Well?"   
  
Roose gazed at him for a moment. "Well..?"   
  
"Who killed her?" Lord Frey demanded, looking peeved at his slowness. "Nice tits on that one, damn shame. Was it one of your men?"   
  
"It was not one of my men." Frey missed the tiny stress on 'men', as it certainly wasn't a lie, Alysanne was no man.   
  
"Hmph. One of my idiot men, then. Suppose she put up a fight."   
  
"It appears she did. Did you see the body?"   
  
"I did." The man answered grumpily. “She suffered?"   
  
"According to your maester, yes. The amount of blood on and around her shows her attacker wanted her to suffer. None of her wounds were lethal in themselves, she bled to death. Her attacker was precise. Calculated, one might say. Planned."   
  
"Hm.." Walder Frey scowled. "Suppose we'll never find out the truth. Shame, it would have made for good entertainment."   
  
The old man shuffled off and Roose watched him go, just as there were footsteps entering the hall behind him.   
  
"Your secret is safe, my Lady.."   
  
Alysanne appeared at his side, arms folded. He chin lifted a little as she watched Frey disappear into the corridor past the hall.   
  
"So it appears."   
  
His hands fisted in her hair to draw her towards him, and he kissed her breathless, then left her standing there in the hall as he went in search of Anders, a small smirk on his lips. She grew more and more like a true Bolton with everything she did.

 

~~  
  
"We ride for the Dreadfort in the morning." Roose turned to her as she approached, and her eyebrows lifted, but she nodded.   
  
"What about Tia?" She asked quietly then, and his face darkened win annoyance a bit.   
  
"We'll take her with us. She may yet prove useful, and in any case, we have matters to discuss with her. She's my problem now, I suppose.."

“I’ll take care of it. She’d much rather hear that news from me than from you.”

Alysanne listened at Teora’s door, her ear pressed to the wood. No noise came from inside, and she wondered if her sister was awake. Best to rip the bandage from the wound all in one go. She pushed open the door, barging in and letting it bang against the wall.

“Good morning, sister! It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and it’s time to get up.” Alysanne ripped the covers off of Teora, then marched over to open the drapes. “We’re leaving for the North in the morning, going home. Time to rid this awful place, and then we have a whole week of travelling to pray to every god you can think of that Walder Frey dies in a horrible, painful accident. Time to get up!”

Teora, in utter annoyance, only grunted.

“This place is in total upheaval, utterly ridiculous. I hope every last one of these Freys gets a spike to the head, but--”

Teora sat up suddenly, as far as her body allowed, ignoring the shooting pain in her head and lower back, “Alysanne, stop talking.” Alys pouted at that, “You said ‘ _North_ ’. Say that again, just so we’re clear. What do you mean, _North_.”

“Opposite of South? North, Teora, where we’re from. The North. That’s what the area is called. We’re in the Neck right now. Also known as ‘Not the North’." 

“You’re deflecting.” Her voice was monotone, pushing Alys to get to the point. “I know _where_ we are going, but you said ‘ _we_ ’, implying you and I and your insane mate. And you said ‘home’. But our home is all but a ruin, so that couldn’t be what you really mean.”

“Why do you ask questions you clearly do not wish to know the answers to?” Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Alys thought she saw the thinnest glaze over Teora’s eyes. This, with the strange carelessness of Tia’s behavior made her to wonder at the effect grief had on people. Making a person full of rage one day and in near denial the next. 

“The Dreadfort is our new home. Yes, ours. Mine through my husband, yours because you have nowhere left.”

Teora frowned, sending her one last look before letting herself collapse onto her back once again, “So what you are saying is, I don’t have a choice.”

Alysanne sighed, ignoring the offhanded remark, shuffling her skirts about and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Walder Frey is already parading a lineup of girls for his new wife.. Not one of them is older than Sansa.”

“For shame, the practice makes my skin crawl.” Teora shifted as best she could, to give her sister room, “All I saw was your face, and Sansa and Arya, when Frey displayed his daughters and granddaughters before the ceremony.”

Alysanne shuddered. “I never liked the idea of being married off to Lords we barely knew, if we were lucky enough to know them at all, but being chosen from a lineup like animals on the auction block has to be much, much worse.”

“We were lucky indeed, for us to be nobility and have the slightest clue who we would wed. I feel for those who don’t. For serving girls and maids that are sold off like cattle. I pitied myself with little clue as to what they must go through.”

“Hmph. I doubt they have much trouble, commoners are free to wed who they like, if they even wed at all.” Her tone hinted a bit of jealousy, even if it was misguided.

“Steady on, Alys.” Teora glanced at her. She elected to change the subject, wishing for lighthearted distraction from the bodily turmoil she was in. “Did I miss anything, while I’ve been immobile?"

“Hm..” Alysanne tapped her fingers absently on Teora’s leg, earning a glare. “Oh, there was a murder last night.”

Teora’s head popped up, her eyes wide, “Continue…”

Alysanne grinned a little at Teora’s reaction. “Never could resist a good murder? A serving girl, one of the Freys’. So cut up you couldn’t recognize her. They found her outside the kitchens, probably one of the Northmen.”

“A serving girl… What in Seven Hells…” Teora laid her head down again, searching the ceiling as though it held answers. “Why a serving girl, of all people.”

Alysanne shrugged. “Perhaps she knew something she shouldn’t have, spoke badly to the wrong person. Who knows?”

Teora glanced at her, searching her face the same way she had the ceiling, but turned back, “Perhaps, you’re right. Though it’s no secret who was involved in the massacre.”

“Noo.. A Frey wouldn’t kill a Frey. Anyways, they found out which servant it was, and I remember her. Smart mouthed little chit, Seven Hells she was annoying. I can’t remember if you would have ever seen her, but I don’t think so. She was a kitchen maid, I believe, not a chambermaid. No one of importance.” 

Teora pulled herself up to rest on her elbows, listening with little attention, until the mention of the maid’s status.

“If she was no one of importance, why do you remember her so much? Have a tiff with her?” She commented casually.

Alysanne scowled. “She insulted our family in front of the Great Hall.”

Teora glanced at her once more, a scrutinous look. It was an even longer moment until her features flattened and she looked Alys in the eye, calm as can be.

“You know who did it, don’t you Alys.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because it was you.”

"It was not."   
  
"Don't play games, Alysanne.”   
  
"She posed no threat to me. Why would I bother?"   
  
"She posed no threat?” Teora was beginning to see further between the lines, and used her elbows to scoot away from Alys, just enough to be noticed. Barely above a whisper, “You enjoyed it.” 

Alysanne shook her head, rising from the bed and turning for the door, narrowly dodging the pillow that Teora pitched at the back of her head.

“Alysanne!” Teora was sitting up again, this time with a grimace so firm she looked much like their mother had when infuriated, it was almost comical.

Alysanne looked back at her, smirking a little at the annoyance on Teora’s face, then went out, leaving the door open behind her.

“Close the door!” Teora hollered after her, getting no response other than a laugh and the sound of retreating footsteps.

 

~~

 

“Is there a reason you’re staring at me like that?”

Alysanne started slightly, frowning at Roose, who hadn’t moved from his desk, his gaze still fixed to the letter he was reading.

“What happens now?” She asked simply, and he set the parchment aside to look up at her.

“Referring to what?”

She motioned vaguely towards the window. “All this. You. You’re allied with the Lannisters.”

“Lord Tywin has named me Warden of the North." 

“So.. Does that mean that the war is over..?”

“Not quite yet. We still need to ensure the allegiance of the smaller houses. Some still stand behind Stannis. After Robb’s death, some may ally with the Lannisters, some with perhaps the Vale.” 

She looked at him for some time, eyes narrowed in thought. "My flight from King's Landing was easy. Far too easy.. I didn't escape at all, did I. The Lannisters let me go."  
  
His pale gaze held hers, betraying nothing.   
  
"Why would they let me go?"   
  
He seemed to be enjoying her bewilderment, finally something she couldn't see.   
  
"How long had you been planning this, betraying Robb?"   
  
"Since I saw he was fighting a war he could not win."   
  
"How does that connect to me?"   
  
"You're a Stark."   
  
Her eyes narrowed a bit and she turned from the window, slowly pacing back and forth, her fingertips pressed to her temples. He watched her do this with an almost smug look of satisfaction.   
  
"Bran and Rickon are dead. Robb was the last male and he died with his wife. He has no heir. Everything he has, his titles, his army, his lands, all pass to his sisters."   
  
"They do."   
  
"You've been planning this from the start." She accused quietly. "Tywin Lannister let me go free because he knew I'd come north, it was the only place I had to go. Did Robb come up with the idea of marrying me to you, or did you ask him?"   
  
"He suggested it."   
  
"But had he not, you would have."   
  
"I would have." He agreed mildly. "You were freed, conditionally, by the Lannisters, at my request."   
  
"Because you’d decided, on a whim, that you wanted to marry me?"   
  
He smiled thinly, and she frowned.   
  
"I'm glad to see my twelve year old self left such a lasting impression on you.."

“Hm.” He made a noise that could beg considered a chuckle. “I assure you that has nothing to do with it. It was much more a matter of who you are.”

"Because with the heir to everything Robb had as your wife, you can claim it all. You will rule the entire north, taken right from under my brother's nose-- but you forget one crucial detail."   
  
"What's that?"   
  
"Teora is older than me. The inheritance passes to her."   
  
He smiled slowly, a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes.   
  
"That is true."   
  
"How do you propose getting around that?" She snapped, planting her hands on her hips. "I doubt Teora really wants control of a massive army and the entire north, but it is her right now, and it's not something she would willingly cast away, especially if she wanted to marry again."

“The best bet to get her out of the way would be to arrange another marriage for her, before she can marry into a rival house. I’m sure you can imagine how that would go. If she married a Lannister? Or a Baratheon, a _Tyrell_? They’d love a direct claim to the Stark strongholds.”

“Robb had been looking for a new husband for her. Did he give any suggestions?”

“Unfortunately, if he had someone in mind, he did not mention them to me. In any case, she should be prevented from marrying at all. The last thing we need is some Lord deciding he wants his wife’s inheritance and starting an uprising. She needs to be put out of the way.”  
  
Alysanne paled a bit, stilling. "You wouldn't kill her."   
  
Still he showed no expression other than a faint smirk, and it unsettled her.   
  
"Roose, don't you dare kill my sister."   
  
"Sometimes, Alysanne, sacrifices must be made."   
  
Her breath wavered a bit as she stared at him in shock. His words should not come as such a surprise, she knew how he was, but still it hurt to hear him speak of Teora so flippantly.   
  
Hesitantly, she knelt beside his chair, leaning her head against his knee, her eyes slipping closed when his hand brushed over her hair.   
  
"My Lord, I beg you. As your lady wife, please, do not kill my sister. She poses no threat, she can be reasoned with. Perhaps she could be convinced to abandon her claim somehow. But do not kill her."   
  
He was silent for a long moment, and she risked a glance up at him. His fingers tightened a little in her hair as she did, and he sighed.

  
  
"As you wish, my Lady.."   



End file.
